


Look Alive, Sunshine

by pocketmumbles (livelikejack)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Killjoys, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, F/F, F/M, Fake Character Death, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4149087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livelikejack/pseuds/pocketmumbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“The future is bulletproof. The aftermath is secondary. It’s time to do it now and do it loud. Killjoys, make some noise!”</em>
</p><p>Or, a Killjoys AU where they all live as outlaws in the post-apocalyptic Hills outside Beacon City, fighting against the corrupt VOid and hounded by the corporation’s mysterious operative, The Fox.</p><p>(Heavily based on My Chemical Romance’s music videos for “Na Na Na” and “SING,” as well as their concept album <em>Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys</em>. See notes for information on character deaths.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sciles Big Bang 2015 Fanmix

**Author's Note:**

> This fic heavily follows the plot of My Chemical Romance’s music videos for [“Na Na Na”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egG7fiE89IU) and [“SING”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTgnDLWeeaM), and is set in the universe of the album _Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys_.
> 
> The major character deaths follow the plot of "SING." As for the Fake Character Death tag...well, as the saying goes, [Killjoys never die](https://twitter.com/gerardway/status/27709410646).
> 
> POV characters are Scott, Stiles, and Liam.
> 
> Huge thank-you to [alan713ch](archiveofourown.org/users/alan713ch) for betaing! All mistakes are mine.

**Written for the 2015 Sciles Big Bang.**   **[Listen to the fanmix](http://8tracks.com/psychxalphx/killjoys) by [adictedtobadguys56](http://archiveofourown.org/users/adictedtobadguys56):**

  1. Look Alive, Sunshine / Na Na Na -  _My Chemical Romance_
  2. Ribs -  _Lorde_
  3. Medicate - _AFI_
  4. Angel With A Shotgun -  _The Cab_
  5. The Wolf -  _Fever Ray_
  6. No Light, No Light -  _Florence + The Machine_
  7. My Sweet Prince -  _Placebo_
  8. Renegades -  _X Ambassadors_
  9. Just One Yesterday -  _Fall Out Boy_
  10. Everybody Wants to Rule the World -  _Lorde_
  11. Sweet Dreams -  _Emily Browning_
  12. You're Gonna Go Far, Kid -  _The Offspring_
  13. Medicine -  _Daughter_
  14. Ready, Aim, Fire - _Imagine Dragons_
  15. SING - _My Chemical Romance_




	2. SIDE A: Make Some Noise!!




	3. See What Tomorrow Brings

Shouts. Screams. Groans of the slowly dying. The dull thud of bodies crashing to the floor, bones shattering like broken glass. And all around, all throughout, the incessant firing of laser pistols.

Scott stumbles back, blinking sluggishly at the broken Berserker’s skull in his hand, at the body crumpled at his feet like dried-out straw. The firefight continues around him, but he’s pinned to the spot. The skull clatters to the ground as he stares with unfocused eyes.

The Fox seizes him by the shirt, shoving him up against the wall and leaning in. The corner of his mouth quirks in a devilish grin, and long fingers dance across the scabbard of his saber. “Okay?” he asks.

Scott drags his eyes up to meet the Fox’s, widening with sudden clarity. He croaks out a single word.

“Stiles.”

The saber slides home.


	4. I’ve Got A Bulletproof Heart

_“Look alive, sunshine._

_“This is DJ Deathmate taking over the air. I’m afraid DJ Mythmaker’s gone ghost, but as you know out here in the Hills, your shadow lives on without you._

_“And now, the traffic._

_“VOid’s been sending out more of their drat Berserkers lately. They’re easy enough to dispatch if you’ve got some treats from the vending machines, but there’s strength in numbers, as they say. Steer clear of Zones 4 and 6 until the skullfaces settle down. Checkpoints 8, 9, and 10 are crawling with Operatives; tune in next time for their new homes._

_“As for our new listeners back home in Beacon City…welcome, rock ‘n’ rollers. Looks like our puzzle’s missing a piece, so you’ll have to take the midnight train on your own this time. Second star on the right and straight on ‘till morning. Good luck._

_“The future is bulletproof. The aftermath is secondary. And Killjoys never die. If you’re listening, if you can hear me, you’re one of the survivors._

_“Keep running.”_

 

* * *

 

A plain t-shirt, dyed bright red with a thin hood hanging down its back. Stonewashed jeans that might have once been white, but have now become so ingrained with dust that no one can agree on what color they’re supposed to be. A stiff denim jacket, studs tacked through the shoulders and the sleeves hacked off with a dull knife. Cracked leather boots, splattered with spray-paint and the soles molded perfectly to its owners feet. Bracers as bright as the t-shirt, rapping hard against knuckles and sliding supple and smooth over wrists. And fingerless gloves, soft from years of cradling calloused palms with the knuckles nestling solid metal. Scott flexes his hands as the black leather settles over his hands like a second skin, then grabs his helmet and bounds out of the diner.

“Good morning, Little Red,” Lydia chirps, tapping away at her Vend-A-Hack while Scott jogs up to her. “You’re off to a late start today.”

He buffs the visor on his helmet. “Didn’t get much sleep last night,” he says. “My neighbors next door were _awfully_ loud.”

“Well, what can I say, I’m a screamer.” Lydia shrugs unapologetically. A neat pile of canisters fall out of the vending machine, and Lydia pushes her goggles onto her forehead. “Ammo’s good to go,” she says, unplugging the Vend-A-Hack as she straightens.

“Thanks.” Scott tucks two canisters into his belt and the rest into a bag, then heads around the building to the Camaro. “Heads up,” he calls, then tosses the bag into the backseat.

Stiles spins around just in time to catch the bag before it hits him in the head. “Asshole,” he huffs even as he grins at Scott.

He climbs into the backseat and steals a quick kiss. “But I’m _your_ asshole.”

“Damn right your asshole’s mine.”

“You have _no_ shame,” Allison calls.

Scott leans over Stiles to poke his head out the window. “You’re really one to talk, Thriller.”

Allison smirks at him from her perch on the Camaro’s trunk. “He’s just mad we kept him up last night,” Lydia says as she sidles up next to Allison. Allison grins and presses a kiss to the crook of her neck.

Scott tucks his chin over the rolled-down window. “Oh, I could never get mad at those smiles.”

“And that will be your undoing,” Allison says solemnly, then breaks into a snort. “All right, all right. Sun’s up.” She hops off the trunk and folds up her map. “Time to start running.”

Lydia yanks the door open and steps back to watch Scott tumble out of the car. “You’re in my seat,” she says sweetly.

“Love you too, Dust.” He rolls to his feet with a sigh, stretching his arms over his head until his joints pop. “Ready to go?”

The hood slams down, and Derek steps around the front of the Camaro. “Engine’s good to go.”

“Shotgun,” Stiles calls, then huffs when Derek climbs into the passenger seat without even acknowledging his words. He scoots over to make room for Allison and Lydia in the back. “Man, how come you always get to ride shotgun?”

Derek twists around to face the backseat, the corner of his mouth quirked. “Because I’m the one with the shotgun.”

Lydia nods, shooting Stiles a sardonic look. “You really can’t argue with that logic.”

“Oh, I definitely could,” Stiles says.

Lydia’s eyes narrow. “You sure you wanna die on this hill, Motor Mouth?”

Scott sighs quietly to himself as he starts the car, then snorts when he hears the unmistakable thud of Allison shoving Stiles and Lydia back against the seat rest. “Can we save the bickering until the car’s actually moving?” she asks.

“Or, you know, never,” Derek suggests. He shoves the passenger seat back into Stiles’ knees, smirking at Stiles’ yelp of protest. “Needed more legroom for my shotgun.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Scott pulls a canister off his belt and tosses it to Derek. “Lock and load, Piece Keeper.”

Derek snaps the canister into his shotgun, then slides his sunglasses over his eyes and flashes Scott a bright grin. “Look alive, sunshine.”

 

The faint buzz of VOid motorcycles catches up to them a few miles after they leave Deaton’s latest setup. “Head west, towards Zone 4,” Allison tells Scott. “The Burned Forest will give us plenty of cover.” He nods and steers towards the sun. “Motor, how many?”

Stiles twists around in the backseat and sizes up the approaching Berserkers. “Six Berserkers, all on bikes,” he says, sounding more than a little surprised. “No car in sight. Huh.”

Scott hears the faint click of Lydia’s binoculars. “He’s right,” she says. “No Operative with them at all.” She pauses, and Scott can practically hear her lips purse. “That can’t be right. Berserkers can’t travel without someone to lead them.”

“Vulpine Sublime’s latest intel mentioned that VOid wanted to develop Berserker lieutenants,” Derek says. He glances into the side-view mirror. “This could be them trying out an early attempt.”

“Well, they’re all going in the same direction, but that could just because they see us,” Stiles says, shrugging. “I think I might steal me one of those bikes. It’s starting to get a little crowded back here.”

“Half the time you ride a bike, you end up crashing it,” Lydia says.

“And half the time I _don’t_ , so, you know, those aren’t bad odds depending on how you look at it,” Stiles says. “So what’s the plan? Lose them in 4?”

Scott glances at Derek. “You said VOid’s making lieutenants?” he asks.

Derek shrugs. “Could be worth checking out.”

“Five on six is easy enough,” Allison says. “I’ll hunt for the lieutenant. Motor, you stick with Dust.”

Scott checks the rearview mirror, then skids the Camaro around a rocky outcropping. “Sounds like a party.”

It’s a familiar habit by now, getting chased through the Hills and taking out some of VOid’s henchmen. Allison climbs from the Camaro’s roof into the nearest tree, and her turquoise jacket soon disappears from view. Derek crouches behind a rocky outcropping as the motorcycles approach, and Lydia pulls a small pink canister from her bag. “Try and leave at least one bike intact,” Stiles tells her. “I want to keep one.”

“We’ll see,” Lydia says, and pulls the pin free before lobbing the grenade into the approaching motorcycles.

The explosion launches four of the motorcycles into the air and sends the Berserkers slamming through the blackened trees. “Two down!” Allison yells from somewhere high above them. One of the remaining bikers wheels around to run down Lydia, and a turquoise arrow buries itself in the groove between skull mask and bone armor. “Three!”

Lydia huffs as the Berserker collapses at her feet. “I could’ve handled that!” she yells up at the trees, then draws her pistol as a wounded Berserker advances on Stiles.

Derek’s shotgun knocks the last Berserker from its motorcycle, and Scott leaps from the outcropping to tackle it back down. He ducks a swipe from its claws and drives his fist into the underside of its jaw, knocking its head back. “Down!” Allison yells, and Scott drops to the ground as an arrow pierces through its exposed throat.

“Four,” Scott mutters to himself. He rolls to his feet and glances around their makeshift clearing. Allison leaps nimbly from a tree as a Berserker splits its trunk in two, and Stiles knocks the Berserker down with a blow from his police baton. Lydia aims her pistol at the eyeholes in its skull, and Scott continues his sweep. “Working on five. Where’s six?”

“Red!”

He barely has time to spin towards Allison’s shout before a clawed hand grips his ribs. He rises high in the air, turning horizontal, and – “Oh, great,” Scott mutters as the Berserker lifts him over its head. It’s aiming at Allison, too, from where he can see. An arrow lands in the Berserker’s arm, but it barely seems to even notice as Scott feels himself be lifted higher.

A shot echoes somewhere below him, and the ground rushes up to meet him as the Berserker abruptly pitches forward. Scott throws himself free at the last moment and crashes into a splintered stump. Allison leaps down next to him and tugs him to his feet, and they look up to watch the Berserker lunge after Stiles.

A shotgun blast knocks it to the side. Derek stalks forward and unloads another blast into the Berserker’s cracked armor, then another. He stands over the Berserker’s crumpled form and squeezes the trigger again, but only a dry click echoes through the quiet forest. The Berserker rises at the sound, lunging forward with claws curved to slice through skin, and Derek flips his shotgun and rams the butt into the Berserker’s skull in one smooth motion.

The skull mask splinters beneath the force, and Derek drives the shotgun further in as the Berserker falls. A deep line cracks down the center of the skull, and the Berserker convulses as the mask’s life-sustaining chemicals begin to fail.

Stiles turns away with a grimace as the body slowly stills. “I hate when they have to die that way,” he mutters to Scott. Scott watches Derek kneel down to verify its death. His hand hesitates over the broken pieces of the Berserker’s skull. “It’s just cruel.”

“It’s all cruel,” Lydia says. “They all used to be people, you know. We just killed six people. VOid killed them first, but we…” She trails off with a heavy breath. “We’re the ones putting them back in their graves.”

“Yeah, but cracking the masks…” Stiles shakes his head. “It’s just not fair, you know, the masks are what controls them, but they’re the only things keeping them alive, too, that’s just…” He shrugs. “Cruel.”

“That’s VOid,” Allison says. “Leave it to them to redefine what it means to be dead.” She nods towards the last Berserker. “That must’ve been the lieutenant,” she tells Scott. “Took longer to go down than usual. I guess they’re making them tougher.”

“Yeah, guess so.” Scott watches Derek, still crouched over the Berserker. “You guys start packing up, okay? I’m gonna go check on Piece Keeper.”

Derek doesn’t so much as stir when Scott steps up to him, or when he picks up the fallen shotgun and reloads it with a loud click. “Nice move with the shotgun,” he tries, and grins when Derek looks up at him.

Derek doesn’t grin back, though, and his face is as white as the pistol sitting in his holster. “I,” he says as he stands, dropping a shard of the Berserker’s mask with a shaking hand. “When I broke its mask,” he continues, and swallows hard. “I thought I saw – no, no, I _know_ I saw-”

Scott frowns when Derek doesn’t continue. “Piece Keeper?” he asks, stepping closer. Derek stares back down at the fallen Berserker, and Scott lowers his voice. “Derek?”

Derek finally looks up, pale and wide-eyed. He licks his lips. “It was Boyd. I know it. I killed-”

A black-lit saber sprouts from his middle. He collapses immediately, already gone before he hits the ground. Lydia screams in rage behind Scott, and then two arrows bury themselves in the Operative’s back. Stiles pushes Scott behind him as Allison runs forward and slits their throat with her metal dagger.

“The Sinker,” Lydia says, kicking the body onto its back. Her eyes glisten bright with rage and tears, and her lips twist as she shakes her head. “I should’ve known he’d be behind them, I should’ve known he’d be hidden and wait for us to let our guard down-”

“None of us knew,” Scott says, squeezing her shoulder. “We couldn’t have known.” He looks down at Derek, fallen next to the Berserker, and Derek’s last words echo through his mind like a cruel taunt. “We couldn’t have known.”

 

They bury Derek in the Lake. It’s never been much more than a near-dried crater, but Derek always loved it there. “It’s the one part of The Hills that still has life,” he used to say, staring down at the tiny puddle of water with the closest attempt to a smile that Scott had ever seen on him. “It’s hope.”

“Your shadow lives on without you,” Scott says as he drops the last handful of dirt over the grave. There aren’t many traditions in the Hills, but everyone out here knows those words. Allison said them for her parents long before Scott and Stiles met her; Derek said them for one sister and then the other on the outskirts of Beacon City; Lydia said them for all four of Type A’s missing team.

One of them will probably say these words for him one day.

It’s a long drive from the Lake to the Post Office, but it’s necessary. Lydia deactivates the saber, and Allison carves The Sinker’s name into the handle before hanging it with the others. It’s necessary, so the others know that there’s one less threat hunting them.

It’s necessary, just like it’s necessary to add Piece Keeper’s laser pistol to the mailbox. It stands out from the others through the clear glass, unnervingly white against the splashes of color. Derek had never gotten around to painting over VOid’s sterile designs. Next time, he’d always said. Haven’t found the perfect color yet, he’d always said.

His shotgun had been solid black, almost as unsettling as VOid’s manufactured white. They’d all seen the stripes of color along the grip, though, Lydia’s deep blue and Stiles’ lighter shade, Allison’s turquoise, Scott’s red. But that’s buried deep underground, sealed tight with its owner.

Die with your mask on if you have to, they say out here in The Hills. And keep your gun close, even in death.

Scott holds open the mailbox slot while Stiles drops in a letter addressed to Piece Keeper. Derek had always complained how Stiles’ handwriting was the worst, how he never could read a damn word he wrote.

And now he never will.

Something small and hard falls into Scott’s hand. He blinks slowly as the soft jingle of metal keys on leather gloves draws him out of his thoughts, and looks up to see Allison watching him with tired eyes. “Sun’s up,” she says. “Time to start running.”

The driver’s seat of the Camaro is all but molded to Scott’s body by now, Derek having relinquished the keys as soon as he was sure Scott could drive it without crashing. He turns automatically to grin at the passenger seat. “Lock and load, Piece-” he begins, then jolts when he sees Allison instead of Derek.

He’d forgotten. For just a split second, for half a heartbeat, he’d forgotten, and the memory stabs into him hot and burning all over again. His words die in his throat, and Allison nods grimly as she pulls on her goggles to hide too-red eyes. The backseat looks cavernous now, just Stiles and Lydia settled on either side without Allison squashed in between them, and Scott swallows thickly as he turns back to the front.

Stiles meets Scott’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “We need more ammo,” he says, and his voice is steady even though his eyes are still wild. It isn’t the first time they’ve buried one of their friends, and it won’t be the last. It’s just part of living out in the Hills instead of Beacon City.

It still hurts every time.


	5. You Keep Eternity, Give Us The Radio

_“Good evening, little coyotes. DJ Deathmate here. A little creeper told me that I’m gaining an audience back in big ol’ Beacon. Well, I say the more, the merrier. Spread the word, keep your ears open, and remember: if you’re going through hell, keep going._

_“And now, the weather.”_

* * *

_“If you’re going through hell,” Scott mumbled, gasping past chattering teeth and bones vibrating through his skin. “If you’re going through hell…” His stomach roiled, and he collapsed against the toilet as he retched up bile. He clung to DJ Mythmaker’s words like a lifeline, the ten seconds of hope he’d found before the radio faded back to VOid’s static. “If you’re going through…if you’re…if…”_

_Stiles pounded on the bathroom door, shouting at Scott to let him in, to tell him what was happening, to let him help. Scott pushed his words away and fumbled open the cabinet, knocking bottles into the sink as he snatched up the pills. His breaths shortened as he fumbled with the lids, gasping desperately for air as his head spun stuffy and tight. How could he have ever thought he’d survive without his nutritional supplements? He’d always been weak, had always been ill, VOid’s medical discoveries were the only reason he’d ever been able to survive his asthma, he couldn’t live without VOid, he needed their help, needed them, needed—_

_Metal clinked against the sink. Scott froze, breaking out into a cold sweat as he carefully lifted the gold bracelet. The Latin phrase carved into it was choked with dust, left behind long ago by its owner._

_He pulled the rolled-up paper from within the hollow band, took shaking breaths, and read the instructions again. She’d written it all down, painstakingly detailed in her neat nurse’s handwriting, what each pill did to his body and brain, how its effects took hold. He just had to do it all in reverse, had to flush out nearly two decades’ worth of VOid’s poison, and then he’d be okay. He’d be okay, and he’d be free. They’d all be free. Stiles, Harley, Deputy Parrish, they’d all make it out when Mom and the Sheriff couldn’t. They_ had _to, because Mom and the Sheriff couldn’t._

_“If you’re going through hell,” he whispered, rolling up the paper and slotting it away, “Keep going.”_

_It was harder with Stiles. It was harder when Scott was already too aware in his own skin, too jittery on the city streets and spooking at his own shadow. It was harder when Scott had to watch Stiles suffer, when he had to pry the pills out of his hands as Stiles begged for them, begged for Scott to stop, begged for it all to end._

_It was harder when Harley relapsed, when she stopped listening to Scott, when one of his oldest friends stopped trusting him and turned him over to VOid instead._

_It was harder when they were stumbling through the city sewers with Parrish, trying to follow DJ Mythmaker’s instructions while Stiles still hadn’t recovered. It was harder when Parrish stopped halfway. “I can’t leave.”_

_“Please,” Scott begged, as Stiles shuddered against his side. “Please, this is our only chance. We have to.”_

_“I have to stay,” Parrish said, shaking his head slowly. “I have to finish what Stiles’ father started.”_

_“Jordan-” Scott began, but Parrish unhooked his police baton and pressed it into Stiles’ hands._

_“I’m not just Jordan Parrish,” he said. “I’m a deputy of Beacon City.” He gripped their shoulders. “Keep each other safe.”_

_It was harder fumbling open the sewer grate while Stiles struggled to stay upright. It was harder shuffling down the tunnel, staring blindly into the dark for anyone following them. “If you’re going through hell,” he whispered under his breath, dragging his legs forward to take another step. Another. “If you’re going through hell…”_

_“Keep going.” A warm hand grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. Scott pushed Stiles behind him as much as he could, balling his hands into fists, and stared up at blue-green eyes that seemed to almost glow in the dark._

_The man’s lips curved into a smirk. “I’m Piece Keeper,” he said. “And you’re going to make it.”_

_Scott swallowed. “How,” he tried to ask, but it came out as a croak. “Why.”_

_Piece Keeper looped Stiles’ arm over his shoulder and hefted a dark shotgun with his free hand. “Because we’re brothers now.”_

 

* * *

 

Isaac’s already lounging upside down on one of the tables when they enter the diner, pistol leveled at the door and glaring at them through the flipped-up visor of his helmet. “You’re late.”

Scott swats aside his pistol and sits down in the booth. “We had to take a detour. Stopped off at the Post Office.”

Isaac’s eyes track Stiles and Allison as they disappear into the kitchen, then flick over Lydia locking the front door behind her. He sits upright and pulls off his helmet slowly. “Piece Keeper.”

“Gone ghost,” Scott says. He reaches across the table and squeezes Isaac’s white-knuckled hand. “I’m sorry, Isaac.”

“His shadow lives on without him,” Isaac says mechanically. “Cora, Erica, Boyd, and now…” He lets out a long breath, dragging a hand through his flattened curls. “Well, shit. I was gonna ask him to go with me on a grocery run.”

“A grocery run?” Lydia demands from the door. She stalks over to the booth, arms crossed. “Show Pony, are you crazy? After what happened with Type A’s team?”

“All the more reason to go,” Isaac says. “It’s been three months since we’ve helped anyone out of the City. VOid’s been getting bolder and bolder since Type A’s team was caught, they think they can do anything now-”

“They strung up Thing 1 and Thing 2 at the Post Office and left them to _rot_ ,” Lydia snaps. “You saw the bodies, Isaac. They didn’t even have faces anymore, they were so-” She cuts off with a sharp inhale, then shakes her head. “That was a message to the rest of us. VOid’s stronger than they used to be. We can’t counter them like we used to.”

Isaac sighs heavily. “Aiden and Ethan knew the risks going in,” he says. “We all do. And people can’t make it out of the City without help from our side, and we need to help them.”

Lydia shakes her head. “It’s too risky. We should wait another month or two for things to die down-”

“And how many will be dead by the time that happens?” Isaac shouts, slamming his fist on the table.

“Isaac,” Scott warns.

“They’re taking civilians,” Isaac says, rounding on him. “Anyone who misses a day of meds, anyone who even _breathes_ the wrong way, they’re rounding them up and turning them into Berserkers. Creep Trick can barely keep anyone long enough to detox anymore before VOid hunts them down. She’s lost _dozens_ , Scott, dozens gone to VOid while she’s waited for us to help them.” He grabs his helmet and stands. “I’m going into Beacon City,” he says. “But I don’t know the town the way Derek did. I can’t help people out _and_ fight off VOid all on my own.”

Scott stares down at the table. “You’re right,” he says finally. “I’ll go with you.”

“No.”

They turn to watch Stiles storm out of the kitchen. “No, Scott, going in there right now would be suicide. You can’t go.” He glares at Isaac. “Neither of you should go.”

“Isaac’s right,” Scott says. “People are dying. We need to help them. And I remember enough of the City from when we got out. Isaac and I are their best chance.”

“But-”

“Allison grew up in The Hills,” Scott says. “She doesn’t know a thing about the City; she’d never survive on her own. And Lydia needs to stay here because her hacking skills are too important.” He sighs. “She’s all we have, ever since Danny got caught.”

“We don’t know if he’s been caught,” Stiles says. “He could’ve gotten out, we’ve only ever seen-”

“Everyone in Type A’s team was caught,” Lydia cuts in. “They’re all dead. Jackson and Aiden and Ethan and Danny are dead.” Her mouth flattens into a hard line. “We’re all that’s left, and if we die, the Killjoys die, and we can’t let that happen because _Killjoys never die_. That’s the one thing that keeps everyone going out here and in Beacon City, that’s the one thing that VOid can never get to and we can’t let them take that, too.” Her hand lifts to fiddle absently with the black ribbon tied around her throat. “It’s not about keeping ourselves alive, Scott. It’s about keeping the Killjoys alive.”

“Then we find more Killjoys,” Scott says, standing next to Isaac. “We find more people ready to take our place, because we can’t leave people behind. We’re supposed to protect them.”

Stiles shakes his head. “And when was the last time you saw someone even _close_ to ready to be a Killjoy? We set up Jackson’s team, and look at what happened to them. They were supposed to get ready to take over after us, not…” He blinks furiously. “Not for us to bury them. There isn’t anyone else, Scott.”

“And if we don’t help more people out of the City, then there never will be,” Scott says. “We already lost Piece Keeper. What happens if we lose Creep Trick? She’s the only one left in the City. Vulpine Sublime’s the only reason VOid hasn’t gotten to her yet. Once they’re gone, we’ll never get anyone out of the City again.”

“Scott.” Stiles steps closer. “Scott, we can’t lose you, okay? _I_ – if-”

Allison runs into the room. “Vulpine Sublime’s with VOid.”

They spin. “What?”

“They’re with VOid,” Allison repeats. She drops the radio onto the table and flips it on. A garbled mix of old songs spills out. “I already decoded the message. There isn’t much, but it came from _within_ VOid.” She looks up at their stunned faces. “I don’t know if Vulpine’s caught, or if they snuck in, but what matters is they’re not getting back out. The last of their information’s with Creep Trick. They hid it with one of the rescues.”

Isaac snorts. “That’s pretty dumb. VOid’s been picking off rescues like corn on the cob.”

“This rescue’s different,” Allison says. “He’s a kid. Late teens, I think. It’s the only reason VOid hasn’t closed in on him yet, but it’s only a matter of time.” She flips off the radio. “I’ll talk to Knight Mare, have the DJ let Creep Trick know we’re coming. We have to get him out of there.”

Stiles slumps. “So that’s it, then,” he says dully. “We’re going on a grocery run.”

“Just me and Isaac,” Scott corrects. “We need the fewest losses possible.”

Lydia nods. “If we’ve lost Vulpine, that last message’s our only hope to get ahead of VOid.” She turns to Scott. “Stiles and I’ll go to Deaton, see if he knows anyone we can start training.”

Scott nods. “We’ll leave at sunup. I’ll take first watch.”

 

He isn’t surprised when Stiles unhooks his police baton and sits down next to him after the others disperse. “I don’t like this, Scott.”

“I don’t like it, either,” Scott says. “But I have to, Stiles. Derek’s the only reason _we_ got out of Beacon City. I have to help others the way he helped us.”

Stiles nods slowly. “You have to come back,” he says, voice thick. “I don’t – you have to come back, okay? I can’t do this without you. I never could.”

“Stiles, of course you could,” Scott says. “You got yourself free from VOid all on your own. I couldn’t help you with that.”

“You did, though.” Stiles fiddles with the thin sleeves of his faded green shirt. “You were right there with me the whole time.”

“And you were there for me.” Scott winds their hands together. “Even when you didn’t know what was happening, even when I couldn’t tell you what I was doing to myself, you were there for me anyway.”

“Well.” Stiles shrugs. “I’ll always be there for you. You’ll always have me, Scott.”

Scott kisses his bare fingers. “And you’ll always have me. No matter what happens, you’ll always have me.”

 

He isn’t surprised when he leaves the diner the next morning to find Stiles already waiting on Scott’s own motorcycle. “Don’t even try to get me to leave, Red,” he calls to Scott, snapping his goggles over his eyes. “I’m coming with you guys. Two guns are better than one.”

“We’ll meet at Checkpoint 3 in two days,” Allison says, folding up her map. “If you miss the window, get to a safehouse and wait for the DJ’s directions.” She pulls Scott in for a hug. “Good luck, Little Red.”

“You too, Thriller Queen,” Scott says. He squeezes tight and ducks down by her ear. “If I don’t make the checkpoint,” he whispers quickly, “You take over, okay? You’re in charge of the Killjoys now.”

Allison’s fingers dig into his back. “Okay,” she says finally. “But you better make that checkpoint.”

“I’ll do my best.” He lets go with a grin, waves at Lydia in the front seat of the Camaro, then pulls his helmet down over his head.

“Three’s a party,” Isaac says cheerfully as he straps on his gloves. He glances down at Stiles’ police baton. “Hope you’re as good with that thing as everyone says you are, Motor Mouth.”

Stiles sits down behind Scott. “You just worry about getting that kid out of the City, Show Pony,” he says. “I’ll take care of VOid.”


	6. Salute The Dead And Leave The Fight

_“Hello again, my foxes, hounds, and all the hunters. I’m DJ Deathmate and tonight, it’s just you and me and the moon._

_“You know, they used to say crazy things happened under the light of the full moon. More fights, more violence, more people losing their minds and turning into monsters. Well, I think some of us would say that it must be a full moon every day and night nowadays, the way more folks seem to turn into monsters every time you turn around, but hey. If you turn into a monster, then that just means you’ve got something to turn back into one day._

_“Enjoy the full moon tonight, friends. Clear skies all around, and it’s particularly big if you’re looking west. Here’s the traffic.”_

* * *

_“No.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“_ No. _”_

 _“_ Yes. _”_

 _“There is_ no _way werewolves are cooler than vampires,” Stiles said. “No way.”_

_Scott shrugged. “Well, for one,” he said, glancing up at the sky, “werewolves can go out in the sun.”_

_“And they also transform into uncontrollable rage monsters,” Stiles said. “Vampires, on the other hand-” He flung his arm wide, knocked his elbow into the Camaro’s hood, then winced before continuing. “Fearsome predators of the night! Dangerous and alluring! Plus, they always end up being hot,” he added. “If you end up a vampire, you’re, like, guaranteed to be hot.”_

_“Guess that means you’ll never be a vampire, then.”_

_“Asshole.” Stiles smacked his arm. “Besides, vampires live forever. I kind of like the sound of immortality.”_

_Scott tilted his head on the Camaro’s windshield, looking over at Stiles. “Vampires can still die, though,” he said. “There’s no such thing as true immortality, even in the stories.”_

_“They live longer than werewolves for sure, though,” Stiles said. “I’d rather have more time than less.”_

_Scott brushed his fingers over the back of Stiles’ hand. “Depends on how you get to spend that time,” he said. “I’d rather have less days out in the sun than more time to hide in the dark.”_

_“And then once a month you completely lose control and kill everyone you love,” Stiles said with a grimace. “I don’t know if that really counts as quality time.”_

_“There are ways to control it,” Scott said. “In some stories, the werewolf can learn.”_

_“Yeah, and most of the time, they can’t.”_

_He shrugged. “So then you give up your control to someone you trust instead.”_

_“Oh yeah, there’s no way that could go wrong,” Stiles said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I can see that ending_ so _well.”_

_“I’d trust you.” He grinned up at Stiles. “And I know you’d trust me. So it’d end just fine.”_

_Stiles tucked his arm closer around Scott. “I was always more of a cat than a dog person, you know.”_

_He laughed. “I know.”_

 

* * *

 

The moon shines down bright and full as they speed into the City. Scott loves the rare cloudless nights, usually, granting them clear views of the stars, but tonight the moon’s light tracks them like a beacon. He follows behind Isaac and Stiles as casually as possible; he doesn’t recognize these streets anyway, so there’s no point looking around and drawing more attention to themselves. “Stay calm,” he murmurs after Stiles cranes his neck around at the billboards for the fourth time in a single block.

“Easier said than done,” Stiles mutters back. “Didn’t exactly leave this place on the greatest terms, you know. And those billboards give me the creeps. It feels like they’re staring at me.”

“That’s the point,” Isaac says. He leads them down an alley and knocks on a back door, then opens it and nods for them to follow him inside.

Stiles makes a face. “What was the point of knocking if it was unlocked the whole time?”

“It wasn’t,” Isaac says, rolling his eyes at Stiles. “Come on, give me _some_ credit here. Duck.”

“What?” Scott asks, and then Isaac yanks them down as a laser beam cuts through where their heads had been. “Creep Trick didn’t used to have that.”

“Things have changed,” a voice calls, and then bare legs tucked into pristine grey boots step into view. “Took you long enough to get here.”

“We-” Scott begins, but Malia’s already begun walking away. He sighs and follows her down the hall.

“Vulpine’s gone, but I’m sure you know that by now,” she tosses over her shoulder. “The last of the info’s still good, though. You’ll want to pass it along to the DJ.”

“I’ll give it to Knight Mare; she’ll make sure it gets there,” Isaac says, nodding as he opens an inner pocket in his jacket. “Where is it?”

“Well, that’s the fun part,” Malia says. She stops in front of another door and flashes them a humorless grin. “Promise you won’t freak out.”

“Well, now I’m definitely going to freak out,” Stiles says.

Malia shrugs and opens the door, waving them inside. “You heard about the kid, right?” she asks. “The info’s with him.”

Scott steps closer to the table in the middle of the room and peers down at the young boy strapped to it. He can’t be older than seventeen, at most. “What’s with the helmet?” he asks. Stiles reaches out to flip up the visor, and Malia smacks his hand away.

“Vulpine made it,” Malia says. “It keeps him in stasis.” She props her hands on her hips, looking down at the boy. “He hasn’t been detoxed. It’s too dangerous to do it here.”

“He hasn’t been-” Stiles throws his hands in the air. “Trick, you _know_ we can’t detox him out in The Hills. The shock’s too much, we don’t have the resources to ease them out of it. No one’s survived that before.”

“You did,” Malia points out. “Piece Keeper said you weren’t even halfway clean when he found you. Thought you were a goner, but you pulled through.”

“Yeah, but only because Red-” Stiles begins, then freezes. He looks from Scott down to the boy on the table, rubbing the hem of his sleeve with his fingers. “That was a fluke,” he says. “And besides, I’d _started_ the process. I wasn’t at square one like this kid.”

“If I started the process, VOid would’ve been on us in a heartbeat,” Malia says. “You know how many people I’ve detoxed while I waited for you guys to come back? VOid’s caught up sooner and sooner. I didn’t dare start him, not when…”

“When what?” Scott asks.

“VOid caught Vulpine while they were getting the kid out,” Malia says, folding her arms. “Just had enough time to put him in stasis and get him to me before VOid came.” She taps the boy’s helmet gently. “VOid want him for some reason. I don’t know why, but he was important enough that Vulpine died to get to him.”

Stiles chews his lip. “Vulpine didn’t tell you why before-?”

Malia shakes her head. “I’m guessing it’s in the info. Vulpine stored it in the helmet, and you can’t take the helmet off him until you’re in the Hills.” She shrugs. “Well, you _can_ , but then you’d have a panicked kid going through withdrawal on your hands. Make sure you trash the helmet when you take it off,” she adds. “Don’t want VOid getting their hands on that kind of tech.”

“We will,” Scott says. He hesitates. “So Vulpine Sublime’s gone for real, then.”

“Just like Piece Keeper,” Malia says. Her eyes flick away, staring into an empty corner of the room, and she lets out a slow breath. “Their shadows live on without them.”

“But that means you’re the only one left in here.”

Malia shrugs and starts buttoning a City-approved blazer over her cropped shirt. “There’s always others.”

“But.” Scott sighs. There aren’t enough, and they aren’t safe, and… “You should come with us,” he says finally.

“I can’t.”

“Like hell you can’t,” Stiles says. He stops unshackling the boy and walks over to them. “Malia, you said it yourself. You can barely keep VOid off your back. If you stay here, they’re gonna get to you.”

Malia sets her jaw. “I’m not going to leave people behind to save my own skin,” she says firmly. “That’s what you always taught me, Scott. We don’t leave anyone behind.”

“But we _need_ you out in The Hills,” Stiles says.

“I’m needed more here,” Malia says. She pulls a small wrapped object out of her pocket and hands it to Scott. “3rd Moon left these behind when he came by with Type A and the others. They’re…” She draws a shaky breath. “Tech goggles are useless to me here, so I figured one of you can take them. And this one’s for the mailbox.”

Scott stares down at the carefully folded letter Malia places in his hand. “Malia-”

“It’s for Derek,” she interrupts. “I didn’t know him as long as the rest of you, but he was the closest thing I had to family.”

He tucks the paper and goggles into his jacket. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“Thank you, Scott.” She quirks her mouth into a sardonic grin. “And the DJ’s had mine and Vulpine’s last words for months, so they can pass those along whenever they want.” She smooths down her collar and shakes her hair out of her eyes. “Now, you guys really need to get going. It’s a full moon out; you picked a hell of a night for a grocery run.”

“Well, we missed the weather report,” Isaac says. He drops the last shackle to the floor and hauls the boy over his shoulder. “We heading out or what?”

 

They’ve just reached the outer tunnel when the roar of approaching Berserkers reaches them. “Shit,” Isaac mutters, then a shot to the arm sends him and the boy tumbling over the motorcycle.

Scott screeches to a halt, running over as Isaac jumps back up. “We’re okay!” Isaac says quickly. “Help me get the kid up, he’s fine. We’re…” He runs a hand over the boy’s helmet, and Scott sees the crack running through the visor as he gets closer. “Shit,” Isaac says, and then the boy’s fist flails out and catches him in the face.

Scott scrambles for the boy, popping up the cracked visor. “You’re okay,” he says as soothingly as possible while his heart thuds in panic. The steady pings of firing pistols echo behind him as Stiles and Isaac shoot at the oncoming Berserkers. “We’re here to help you, and you’re going to be okay.”

The boy stares up at him, bright blue eyes wide with terror. “I can’t breathe,” he gasps out. “I – what’s happening to me?”

“You’re going to be okay,” Scott repeats. “I went through the same thing, and I got through it, and you will, too.” He leans the boy against the tunnel wall and cradles the back of his neck gently, but his skin burns under Scott’s palm and his breaths come too shallow. “Hey, what’s your name?” Scott tries. The boy stills, eyes widening in panic, so he quickly continues, “Mine’s Scott.”

“Scott,” the boy mumbles. He blinks sluggishly, and searing sweat trickles down Scott’s hand. “Liam,” he says after what feels like an eternity. He takes a shaky breath and looks up at Scott. “I’m Liam.”

“Liam, that’s a nice name,” Scott says, flashing Liam what he hopes looks like an encouraging smile. “We’re gonna get you out of here, Liam, okay? It’s not safe where we are right now, but we’re going somewhere that is. Does that sound okay?”

Liam nods slowly. “Okay, Scott.”

Stiles backs up next to them. “We gotta go!” he yells. “There’s too many of them, we gotta-”

“Grenade!” Liam screams.

Isaac frowns. “What the-” he says, and then a metal ball lands a few feet in front of them. “Grenade!” he yells, flinging himself over Liam. Scott barely manages to knock Stiles to the ground before it explodes.

“Scott!”

He blinks open dizzy eyes and coughs dust from his throat. “Motor Mouth?” he croaks out. “Show Pony? Liam?”

_“Scott!”_

“Red.” Familiar hands help him upright, and Stiles’ face floats into view. “Red, you gotta get out of here, okay? Take the kid and don’t stop until you’re in The Hills. Show Pony’ll cover you.”

_“Scott!”_

Scott turns his head slowly to see Isaac struggling with Liam. “He won’t stop screaming,” Isaac mutters, and then Liam breaks free and lunges at Scott. Isaac staggers to his feet behind him and rights the motorcycles. “We gotta go, Little Red!”

Scott nods, gritting his teeth as his head throbs. “Motor Mouth, you-” He freezes when he sees Stiles toss his pistol to Isaac. “What’re you doing?”

“There’s an Operative with them,” Stiles says, helping Liam onto Scott’s motorcycle. “Someone has to stay and buy the rest of us time.”

“An Op-” Scott’s throat dries as he squints at the suit-clad figure. They’re still far away, blurry through the smoke, but the hair, the gait, even the hand brushing the side holster is all too familiar. “No. No, it’s not-”

“It’s him,” Stiles says.

Scott swallows. “I’ll stay behind.”

“You can’t.” Stiles shakes his head. “The kid’s barely hanging on as it is. You’re his only chance to survive the detox.”

“You’ve been through it, too,” Scott says. “You can help him-”

“Red, you can barely even stand,” Stiles cuts in, voice abruptly hardening. He grips Scott’s shoulders, gaze firm and cold. “You can’t fight an Operative like this. You won’t be able to buy us the time we need, and you need Show Pony to get you past the border. It has to be me.”

“No.” Scott shakes his head, barely noticing the pain in his skull. “Motor, you can’t, I’ll-”

Stiles claps his hands around Scott’s face and lunges forward into a bruising kiss. “I love you, Scott,” he murmurs against Scott’s jaw. “I love you so much, I’ll always love you.”

“Stiles,” Scott pleads. His breath catches tight in his throat, squeezing tight and choking while his heart pounds through his skull. “I love you, Stiles, I-” He can’t beg. He can’t. It isn’t about what they want, it’s about what needs to be done, and he can’t beg. His eyes burn, running molten down his cheeks, and he clutches Stiles close to let him go. “It’s always been you, Stiles,” he whispers. “It’ll always be you.” He presses his face to soft skin and breathes him in for the last time. “I love you, I love you. I love you.”

Stiles presses their lips together, soft and stealing away Scott’s last breath. He draws back with a trembling smile, then swallows hard and turns away. “Time to go!” Isaac yells as his motorcycle roars to life. Scott starts his motorcycle and secures Liam in front of him, then looks back one last time.

Stiles stalks towards the approaching Operative, snapping out his police baton with his head held high. “This look familiar to you, Deputy?” he shouts. “Do you remember me, Jordan Parrish?”

Scott wrenches his gaze forward and drives into the sunrise. He doesn’t dare look back, not as Stiles’ defiant roar echoes through the tunnel and Isaac’s pistol pings next to him. The copper tang of blood pools in his mouth with salty tears as Stiles’ scream abruptly cuts short, as the tunnel echoes with ricocheting lasers and too-loud silence. He clutches Liam’s shaking form close, tucks his face close to skin burned raw and tries to pretend that it’s all to comfort Liam, not because he needs it now, too.


	7. We’ll Find You When The Sun Goes Black

_“Rise and shine, sleeping angels. This is DJ Deathmate with the morning report._

_“I’ve got a message from an old friend I don’t think I’ll be seeing again, at least not in this life. No codes this time, no garbled notes for you all to untangle. In their own words, this one comes from the heart.”_

* * *

_Scott never got to meet Laura. “The original Killjoy,” Allison used to say, even though that wasn’t quite true. The first Killjoys were long gone, the name stomped into oblivion nearly a decade ago. But Laura, Allison had said. Laura had brought the name back, taught the denizens of the Hills to fight again. Laura and Derek and Cora, the original Killjoys family._

_She’d died the day before Scott and Stiles made it to The Hills. “Took down three Operatives along with her,” Allison said. “You know Zone 8? The Dead Zone? That’s ‘cause of Laura. Blew the whole place apart rather than let VOid take her in.” She shook her head. “Drove Derek out of his mind when it happened. He left Cora with us and just disappeared. Took me all night to track him down.”_

_The corner of Scott’s mouth lifted. “And found him just past the border with a half-dead City kid under each arm.”_

_“Yeah, you were a pretty terrible sight,” Allison said, huffing a laugh. “But really, Scott, thank god you ran into him.” She lifted her head to meet his eyes. “He wouldn’t listen to anybody when he left that night, not even his own sister. If you hadn’t found him, I don’t think he’d have ever come back.”_

_“I didn’t find him,” Scott said, shaking his head. “He found us.”_

_Allison stared at him with solemn eyes. “Well, you saved his life that night. And I’ll never forget that.”_

* * *

There isn’t time to mourn. (There’s never time to mourn.) There’s Isaac to get to the clinic before his wounds fester, and there’s Allison to debrief and hand over the helmet with Vulpine Sublime’s last message, and above all there’s Liam, feverish and delirious and shaking out of his skin.

Scott loses track of time in Deaton’s basement, the days stretching into an unending near-darkness as he helps Liam work the last of the City’s meds out of his system. He almost smashes Scott’s face in during the worst of his withdrawal, then can’t keep down even the weakest broth for days, then simply refuses food altogether and nearly starves himself to death. Scott remembers feeling like the worst hell when he’d detoxed, and he remembers the three nerve-wracking days in the Hills before Stiles was coherent again, but Liam’s seems even worse, even more severe than anyone he’s seen or any stories he’s heard.

It could be his age, Scott guesses. Maybe the added turmoil of puberty makes it worse for the meds, he guesses. Mom would’ve known for sure, she would’ve known exactly what to do to help him and—

“Scott?” Liam croaks, shuffling over from the other side of the room. “You okay? You just kind of froze for a while there.”

Scott blinks. “Yeah, sorry, yeah. I’m fine.” He shakes his head, feeling for the gold bracelet on his wrist. “I just – hadn’t thought about my mom in a while. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Liam says. He stretches. “A lot better, actually. Definitely good enough to go see the sun,” he adds hopefully.

Scott smiles, fighting down a yawn. He stretches carefully and bites back a wince as his still-bruised ribs twinge in pain. “Let’s see if you can get up the ladder first.”

Liam darts for the nearest window as soon as he lifts the trapdoor, splaying his face against the glass as he stares out with glee. “Took you long enough to get him running,” Isaac says from the table. His smile fades a little. “How’re you holding up?”

“Liam’s doing good,” Scott says instead of answering. There isn’t time to – there isn’t time. “Is everyone back? Now’s a good enough time for introductions.”

“Yeah, you just missed Knight Mare, actually,” Isaac says. “Brought the new DJ with her, but they stayed in the car the whole time.” He rolls his eyes. “Because the DJs always have to stay _so mysterious_. We’ll probably never meet this one, either, just like Mythmaker. And Allison probably heard Liam knock over all that stuff, so they’ll be inside right about-” The door opens. “Now.”

Liam glances down guiltily at the containers littering the floor. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lydia says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m just happy to finally get to meet you.” She holds the door open and tilts her head. “You any good with tech?”

Liam follows her out. “Uh, I got pretty high marks at the Academy…”

Isaac slides off the table and hobbles towards the door. “I’m going with them,” he says. “Haven’t gotten out in _ages_.”

“He never was very good at subtlety,” Scott says as he watches Isaac slam the door shut. He turns to Allison. “Both arms, ribs, his entire right leg – how bad was it?”

“Nothing Deaton couldn’t fix,” Allison says. “The good thing about lasers is they cauterize the wounds right away. Bullets must’ve been hell back in the day.” She bends to pick up the fallen containers. “Knight Mare passed Vulpine Sublime’s message on to the DJ, and she’s disposing of the helmet as we speak. How’d the detox go?”

“Worse I’d ever seen,” Scott says, restacking the containers that she hands to him. “But he’s fine now. He’s resilient. I can see why Vulpine risked so much to get him away from VOid.”

“Show Pony debriefed me on what happened,” Allison says as she straightens. “If you want to talk to someone about-”

“Liam’s going to need new clothes,” Scott says. “Is Dust evaluating him for…?”

“Yeah.” She leans against the counter. “She figures if VOid wanted him that bad, he might be good enough to train.”

Scott shakes his head. “He’s just a kid.”

“We don’t have many options,” Allison says. “We visited the communes. No one’s ready, Red. And I know you don’t really want to leave him at the communes, either.”

Scott sighs heavily. “They sent an Operative after us,” he says. “The Deputy.” His throat closes for the briefest of moments as he remembers Parrish’s empty stare. “VOid’s never done that for a grocery run before. It’s a waste of their own resources when they can just use Berserkers to swarm us in.”

“So they really wanted to get him back.”

“And they still might,” Scott says. “He’s too risky to stay at the communes.”

She nods. “It’s safest for everyone if he stays with us. And if he stays with us-”

“-then he needs to be trained,” Scott finishes reluctantly. He drops his hands on the table. “He’s just a kid.”

Allison smiles sadly. “Not anymore.”

* * *

_“You can actually shoot.”_

_Scott turned around to see Cora staring at him, arms crossed with her head tilted in confusion. Her brows were drawn together the same way he’d seen so many times on her brother, and her eyes narrowed just like Derek’s. “You can actually shoot_ well _,” she added, nodding at the smashed bottles several paces away._

_“Well, yeah,” Scott said, tucking his pistol away. The cartridge was half-empty; he’d need to ask Lydia to help him get a new one soon. She’d shown him how to use her Vend-A-Hack, but he couldn’t build one himself the way she’d been teaching Stiles. “Grew up around the police; you pick up a few things.”_

_Cora dropped her arms with a shrug, turning around and heading back to the diner. She moved slowly, so Scott took it as a hint to walk back along with her. “You’re a great shot,” Cora said. She jerked her thumb at the makeshift shooting range. “That, back there? That was natural talent. Allison said you’re getting better with every session.”_

_Scott shrugged. The hood of his t-shirt bunched under his neck, and he smoothed it out awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess I’m not terrible.”_

_“So how come every time you get in a scrape with one of those drat Berserkers, you always come back with a full cartridge and busted knuckles?”_

_He resisted the urge to jam his hands into his pockets. Cora was strolling so slowly that they might as well have been moving backwards, and he knew that this entire conversation had to be some sort of test. Her gaze dropped to the fingerless gloves on Scott’s hands, and his palms abruptly broke into a sweat under the worn black leather. “Well,” he said, and forced his hands to stay still. “Just because I can shoot well doesn’t mean I actually_ want _to.”_

 _Cora’s frown deepened. “Out here in the Hills, it’s not about what you want to do. It’s about what you_ have _to do.”_

_He shook his head. “I didn’t come out here to kill people. And VOid’s Berserkers – they’re people, too.”_

_“Not the way you think,” Cora said. “You don’t come back from being a Berserker. You can’t. Trust me, we’ve tried.” She glanced out at the dusty road, lips pressed together. “Better to be dead than VOid’s puppet.”_

_Scott let out a long breath. “I understand.”_

_Cora nodded. “You’re a great shot,” she repeated. “So when you use that gun of yours on someone, make sure it’s the only shot you’ll need to take.”_

_His head jerked up. Allison had mentioned needing another sniper to train up, but he didn’t – he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t shoot someone down where they couldn’t see him. He couldn’t – “Knight Mare’s gonna come by in a few days,” Cora continued. “You’ll want to meet her. She’s our closest connection to the DJ. Told me she found some bracers for you.”_

_He blinked. “Bracers?”_

_“If you’re going to use your fists as your main weapon, you need to protect them,” Cora said, shrugging. “Derek asked her to keep an eye out for some last month. Some of the Operatives wear them, goes with the sabers they love using.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, she found a pair that’ll fit you.”_

_“Oh.” He let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”_

_Cora stopped in front of the diner doors. “And you should paint your gun.” She clapped him hard on the back, and his breath rushed from his lungs in a sharp cough. “It’s about time, Little Red.”_

_His eyebrows jerked up. “Little Red?” Cora smirked at him and yanked his hood over his head._

_Scott reached up automatically to push it back as she yanked the door open, then dropped his hand. “Little Red,” he repeated softly, trying out the name. The corner of his mouth quirked up into a grin. “And Killjoys never die,” he murmured, and followed her into the diner._

* * *

“You’re nervous,” Lydia says.

Scott rolls his eyes. “I am not.”

“You’re nervous that the kid’s gonna fall off your bike and scrape his little knee,” Lydia coos. “Relax. He’ll be fine. Gotta take the training wheels off some day, Red.”

He crosses his arms and glares at her. “I’m totally relaxed.”

Lydia raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t comment. “Thriller says he’s doing nicely with weapons,” she says instead. “Doesn’t have the best aim, but he’s got the mechanics down. She wants to upgrade him to the fun toys whenever you’re ready.”

“When _I’m_ ready?” Scott asks. “It’s up to him, not me.”

“Yeah, but you get final say,” Lydia says. “You know his mental state better than the rest of us. If you say he’s not ready, he’s not ready.”

“Well, if Thriller says-”

The Camaro skids to a stop just in front of them. “Berserkers!” Allison yells, scrambling for the passenger seat as Scott and Lydia jump in. “We gotta go. Head southwest.”

“But Show Pony and-”

“They know the drill, they’ll be fine,” Lydia says, checking her grenades. “Southwest? But we’re too close to the-”

“There’s an Operative with them,” Allison says. “Didn’t recognize it, must be new. They’re coming from the east; if we leave now, they’ll chase us and won’t even catch a scent of the kid.”

Lydia reaches into the back and passes helmets forward. “Dead Zone it is, then,” she says.

It isn’t long before the Berserkers catch up to them. Lydia hurls a grenade at the approaching motorcycles as Scott parks the Camaro behind the record store. The roof gives Allison decent cover to pick off the Berserkers, but the Operative – “Cover Thriller Queen,” Scott tells Lydia, pushing her towards to building. “I’ll deal with the new guy.”

The Operative is covered from head to toe, apparently having come prepared to chase them to the edges of the Dead Zone. They’re reckless, too, rushing at Scott without any sort of finesse. Scott dodges easily and knocks them to the ground, jumping back as the Operative draws their saber. It’s simple enough to disarm them, he’s done it before, he just has to—

A shot lands in his leg and sends him crumpling to the floor. The Operative rushes forward, saber raised to take his head off. Scott kicks his leg out, narrowly avoiding the laser blade as The Operative falls next to him.

He scrambles back quickly, staring at the label stitched into the Operative’s breastpocket – _Fox_. Vulpes vulpes. Vulpine. Vulpine’s – the Operative stands, kicking the saber aside, and then a shot cracks a hole in the middle of their mask.

Arms wrap around Scott’s middle and haul him upright. “Run!” Isaac yells in his ear. Scott stumbles to the Camaro, watching the Operative stumble as toxic air seeps through the crack in their mask. Liam backs towards Scott, gaze focused on the Operative, and shoots another hole in the mask. Then he shoves Scott into the backseat and slams the door behind them as Lydia tears away from the panicked Berserkers.

Lydia flips up her visor as Allison and Isaac drive their motorcycles on either side of the Camaro. “Car’s sealed,” she says. “How’s Red doing, kid?”

Scott shoves his helmet off. “I’m fine.”

Liam grins as he pulls off his own helmet. “He’s fine, Diamond Dust.”

Allison signals through the window. “Thriller’s taking us to Checkpoint 5,” Lydia says. “Show Pony’ll probably split off there. The DJ needs to know about the new Operative.”

“They’re called The Fox,” Scott says. “Got a glimpse of the label when they knocked me down.”

The Camaro is silent for a moment. “Vulpine Sublime,” Lydia says finally. “They made Vulpine an Operative.”

“But…” Liam frowns. “I thought you guys said they _killed_ Vulpine. VOid can’t bring people back from the dead, can they?”

“They might not have killed Vulpine in the first place,” Scott says. “If they have enough skills, VOid turns them.” He shakes his head. “Hey, that was some pretty sharp shooting back there, Liam. You really saved my butt.”

Liam ducks his head. “Lucky shots,” he mumbles. “I’m way worse at target practice.”

“Well,” Lydia says, eyes flicking up to meet Scott’s in the rearview mirror. “You’re damn good when it counts.”

* * *

_Scott ducked under a swing, rose quickly to his knees, and then the staff caught him hard on his cheek and sent him spinning to the ground._

_He rolled onto his back, groaning as the staff tapped him just below his ribs. “Gonna have to be faster than that if you want to dodge an Operative’s saber,” Boyd said, and offered a hand to help Scott up._

_He accepted it, rising gingerly to his feet, and spat out the blood welling in his mouth. “Again?” he asked, settling into a crouch._

_“Nah, we’re done for the day.” Boyd collapsed his staff and tucked it into his belt. “You’re gonna have a hell of your bruise on your face.”_

_“If it was a real saber, I wouldn’t have a face anymore,” Scott said. He rubbed his jaw, wincing, then accepted the canteen that Boyd offered him with a nod. “Thanks for helping me with this.”_

_“Helping you get the crap beat out of you? Sure, no problem,” Boyd shrugged. He clapped Scott hard on the back, knocking the breath from his lungs in a sharp cough. “But I respect what you’re trying to do.”_

_Scott tilted his neck slowly, grimacing as joints popped. “I’d just rather not use weapons if I don’t have to. I don’t like the idea of…” He shrugged. “I just don’t.”_

_Boyd nodded. “I get that. I really do. It’s definitely not the easy choice,” he added with a faint snort, “But I respect that.”_

_“How goes the brawl, boys?”_

_Scott looked up to watch Erica skip towards them, grease-covered gloves swinging from her hands. She winced as she drew closer. “Your face is gonna swell like crazy, Scott.”_

_“Well, next time I’ll know not to get hit like that,” Scott said. He nodded down at her gloves. “Need any help with the bikes?”_

_“I could, actually,” Erica said, glancing up at the sky. The sun burned hot and bright overhead, just beginning to head west. “The Camaro took longer than I thought. We’re running out of daylight, and I still need to fix Isaac’s brake line before I get started on Boyd’s…”_

_“Brake line’s simple enough. I can handle that.”_

_Erica beamed. “Thanks a bunch, Scott. If you run into any problems, just give me a yell, but I really appreciate it.”_

_Scott grinned. “No problem. I should put what you taught me to use, anyway.”_

_Erica flashed him a smile, then nodded for Boyd to follow her back to the garage. “So what exactly did you do to mess up your bike so bad?” Scott heard her tease before their voices faded out of earshot._

_He walked around the building to find Isaac, leaning on his motorcycle and basking in the sun. “Heard you messed up your bike,” Scott called._

_Isaac tilted his head lazily towards Scott. “Erica said it was a simple fix, it’s not that bad –_ Jesus. _” His eyebrows disappeared into his curls as he boggled at Scott. “Your face.”_

_Scott rolled his eyes, running a hand gingerly over his cheek. “It’s not that bad.”_

_“Yeah, sure,” Isaac said with an unconvincing nod. “You’re just really living up to the whole ‘Red’ part of your name right now.”_

_He snorted and knelt down next to Isaac’s motorcycle. “Well, it’ll be back to normal next time you guys come back here. You’re headed for the City, right?”_

_“Yeah, Creep Trick picked up a few strays, so we’re gonna ferry them out.” Isaac picked a speck of dirt off his helmet. “Twins, I think. Or, well, I_ think _that’s what the DJ said. They’re always so cryptic, you know; Allison’s way better at decoding their messages.”_

_Scott nodded. “First grocery run without Derek,” he said. He looked up at Isaac. “You nervous?”_

_“Nah.” Isaac shook his head. “Derek’s still…he needs to stay here with you guys. And Boyd knows the City like the back of his hand, and besides…”_

_Silence stretched for several seconds. “Besides?” Scott prompted, then glanced up to see Isaac staring out into the Hills with an unfocused smile on his face._

_“We just work together really well,” Isaac said. “Like, I know I’m safe with them, I know I’m in good hands, and…” He tossed his helmet from hand to hand, gaze dropping to Scott’s shoulder. “You ever meet someone and you realize…this is it?”_

_He glanced up. “Hm?”_

_Isaac hugged his helmet to his chest. Scott followed his line of sight to Boyd and Erica walking their own motorcycles towards them. “Like they’re everything you’ve been looking for your whole life,” Isaac said. “And they’re all you’ll ever need. They’re…they’re it.” He tucked his chin over his helmet. “You know?”_

_Scott grinned. “Yeah,” he said, watching Stiles toss Boyd extra cartridges for his pistol. “I know what you mean.” He revved the engine. “It’s pretty crazy when you find your family, yeah?”_

_“Yeah.” Isaac jammed his helmet onto his head and grinned at Scott. “I’d never be able to do any of this without them, you know?”_

_Boyd and Erica reached them before Scott could answer. “Sun’s up,” Boyd said, flipping his visor down. “Time to start running.”_

_The three leaned over their handlebars and pounded fists. Erica tucked her hair neatly inside her helmet with a bright smile. “The future is bulletproof!” she crowed._

_Boyd started his motorcycle, teeth gleaming through his visor. “The aftermath is secondary.”_

_“And Killjoys never die!” Isaac whooped, kicking up his motorcycle’s stand. He glanced over his shoulder and flashed Scott a grin, shining blue eyes just barely visible behind his visor. Then the engines roared, and they rode out as one._

_Scott watched the dust slowly fade as the Killjoys disappeared from sight. “Yeah,” he said quietly to the empty lot. “I know.”_

* * *

“He’s getting better,” Allison says, sitting next to Scott on the Camaro’s hood while Liam hacks the vending machine under Lydia’s watchful eye. New grenades spill out of the tray, and Liam whoops, pulling down his goggles to high-five Lydia. “That was a nice touch, giving him Danny’s goggles.”

“Killjoys never die,” Scott says. He flexes his gloves. “It’s tradition.”

“I guess it is,” Allison says. Liam starts reprogramming the machine to spit out new pistols. “Speaking of tradition, Scott, we’re not far from the Post Office if you want to-”

Scott pushes away from the Camaro. “Hang on!” he calls.

Liam turns around. “I was just gonna get myself a pistol,” he says. “Thriller Queen said I’m ready, and everyone needs their own-”

“I’ve got one for you,” Scott says. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a powder-blue pistol.

Liam stares as Scott lays it in his hands. “But that’s…”

“He’d want you to have it,” Scott says. He nods at Lydia. “Head for the diner when you’re done here. I’ll go over there now, get dinner started.”

“Scott,” Lydia begins, then shakes her head with a quiet sigh. “Sure thing, Red.”

 

He parks his motorcycle in front of the diner and disables the alarms. His boots echo too loud on the linoleum as he walks in, the diner too quiet as he shuts the door with a dry click.

Scott walks behind the bar on autopilot, hands pulling canned food and spoons from the cabinets. He sets the first can down, and for a moment he sees Stiles sitting at the bar as always, spinning in his favorite rickety stool and leaning over the bar to distract Scott with a kiss as he steals the non-dented spoon for himself. Then Scott blinks, and only dust motes drift over the stool, winking through the last rays of sun. He stares down at his empty hands and swallows heavily. “Stiles.”

He bows over the bar and cries.

 

* * *

_Danny let out a long sigh from his sprawl on the table. “Why is it always me?” he said, tapping his fingers restlessly against the goggles hanging around his neck. Jackson nudged his wrist, and he stopped for all of two seconds before starting right back up again. “Am I that much worse of a fighter than you guys?”_

_“Yeah,” Aiden said, at the same time that Ethan responded with an emphatic, “No.” They glared at each other._

_“They always target the hackers the most,” Scott said, carefully setting Danny’s leg with a splint. “Lydia used to get hit a lot, too.”_

_Jackson nodded. “Muscle wins a battle, but brains end the war. Bigger threat.”_

_“Exactly.”_

_Danny sighed. “You said she used to,” he says to Scott. “How’d she change that?”_

_“Started building her own grenades,” Scott said. “And Allison became an even better shot with her bow.”_

_“Oh!” Danny snapped his fingers. “That reminds me. I’ve got another tape for the DJ. It’s in my jacket-” Aiden dug through Danny’s jacket and set the tape on the table. “Hacked into another private feed.”_

_“That’s amazing,” Scott said, staring down at the tape. He turned back to the splint. “VOid didn’t catch you?”_

_“Didn’t even know I was there,” Danny grinned. He glanced at Jackson, then back at Scott. “I think I could get even closer if I was in the City,” he added._

_“Hm,” Scott said absently. He finished wrapping Danny’s leg in a splint and sat back. “All right, No more bikes for at least a month. Ethan already stole a car for you, so put it to use. It even has an automatic transmission, so you don’t have any reason to use that leg at all.”_

_Danny grinned up at Ethan. “Aw, you_ do _like me,” he teased. Ethan cuffed him lightly on the shoulder with a roll of his eyes, but a tiny grin curled at the corner of his mouth._

_Jackson nodded at Scott. “Thanks for patching him up,” he said. “I wanted to take him to Deaton, but Danny insisted we didn’t have to go that far. And you’ve trained with him, so-”_

_“I just picked up a few things,” Scott said with a shrug. “Splints and sutures, that’s pretty much all I can do. And his leg should heal fine on its own as long as he actually stays off it.”_

_“Done,” Ethan said, and lifted Danny off the table._

_“Aw, come on,” Danny whined. “I have a crutch for a reason. You don’t have to carry me everywhere.”_

_“Hey, I’m just protecting the brains,” Ethan said as he carefully backed through the doorway. Scott followed them outside, watching Danny and Jackson pile into the car while the twins flanked them on their motorcycles. They drove away from the diner in a cloud of dust, and Scott waved until the roar of the engines finally faded away._

_“How’re they doing?” Stiles asked, jamming his gloves into his pocket as he stopped next to Scott. “Danny got hit again?”_

_He nodded. “They’re getting better, though. Give them a few more months together, I think they could actually be really good.”_

_“If they don’t get too cocky first.”_

_“They’ll get there.” He turned to Stiles, flashing him a grin. “If losers like us can make it out here in the Hills, then they’ll do just fine.”_

_“If you say so,” Stiles said, shrugging. He glanced at Scott, eyebrow arching in a wicked grin. “Speaking of making out.”_

_He followed easily as Stiles tugged him close, lips pressing together in a lazy, sun-soaked kiss. “You better buy me dinner first,” he murmured as Stiles’ hand slid into the back pocket of his jeans._

_Stiles’ lips curved into a smirk. “Got a can of Power Pup with your name on it. I even stole the non-dented spoon for you.”_

_“Such a gentleman.” His fingers tucked under the hem of Stiles’ shirt, tracing over lean muscle and moles he knew better than his own skin. He tilted his head up for another kiss, slow and deep with the sun glowing bright behind his eyes._

_He had no idea what tomorrow would bring. But in this moment, with the sun warm at his back and Stiles’ touch singing down to his bones, it felt like everything was going to be all right._

* * *

Scott tilts his head as Liam sits down in the booth. “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

“I could say the same for you,” Liam says. He hesitates before apparently deciding to dive right in. “Thriller Qu – _Allison_ told me you haven’t talked about him since you found me.”

Scott shrugs. “There hasn’t been time.”

“She also told me about the mailbox.” Liam pulls St – _his_ pistol out and lays it on the table. “Passing down gloves and goggles, that’s one thing. But _this_ is supposed to be in the mailbox with everyone else’s, not with me.”

Scott looks down at the pistol. “If you really don’t want to talk about it, I’ll leave you alone,” Liam says. “But I get the feeling that you really, really, do. And,” he shrugs awkwardly. “I don’t know anything about…it’s not gonna hurt me to talk about him, the way it does with Allison and Lydia. So.” He nudges the pistol across the table. “Motor Mouth, right?”

Scott nods, and something in his chest loosens. Not much, but just enough to grant a sliver of space to breathe. “Stiles. We – our parents were friends, so we grew up together.”

Liam smiles. “That sounds nice,” he says, a hint of wistfulness in his voice.

“It was,” Scott says. A laugh bubbles out of his throat, pained and happy and helpless all at once. “He’s always…he was…everything I’ve been through, he did, too. He…it’s…” He drops his head. “I always had him. As long as I can remember, Stiles has always been there, and.” His lips press together, and he swallows down tremors as the powder blue pistol blurs in front of his eyes. “I can’t accept that he’s gone.”

“You won’t,” Liam corrects, firmly yet still understanding. “I know how that goes, it’s hard to-”

“No, I _can’t_.” Scott looks up. “I’m nothing without Stiles. Before I knew him, I was nothing, and – I don’t know how to live without him.” He huffs a laugh, breath coming quick and frantic. “I don’t even know who I am without him, I – so I can’t, Liam. I can’t keep going and let him go.”

Liam nods slowly. “I know how that goes,” he says quietly, tracing circles on the table with his finger. He shakes his head. “That’s not good for you, you know.”

“I know.” Scott shrugs. “But I have to. I have to know he’s still alive. I have to know I can still save him, or else I’m…” He trails off with a shake of his head and pushes the pistol back across the table.

Liam tucks the pistol away. “Allison and Lydia are worried about you.”

“They think I’m going to break,” Scott says, nodding. “The way Derek did after Laura and Cora, and the way Isaac did after Erica and Boyd.”

“No, they’re just worried because you won’t talk to them,” Liam says. “They knew Stiles, too. They’re mourning him, too.”

He knows. He knows, and he knows he’s being selfish, and he knows he’s being delusional, and he knows he’s been pushing them so far away for their own good that he’s hurting them instead. “I’ll talk to them.” He’s used to comforting someone after they’ve lost family. He can be that for them. He just has to – the flash of powder blue in Liam’s holster settles him, calms him, tethers him back down to his own chosen reality.

He’s okay.

He _is_.

* * *

_“…and remember, always remember that out here in The Hills, your shadow lives on without you. The thing about shadows, friends, is that they can’t exist without light, and not without someone there to cast it. And that’s the beauty of it. There is always light, there is always hope, and there will always be someone there to pick up your shadow and carry on what you’ve begun._

_“The future is bulletproof. The aftermath is secondary. And Killjoys never die._

_“I’ve been DJ Deathmate. Over and out.”_

 

* * *

 

It’s days later, or maybe weeks, when VOid catches up to them again. It’s dark, storming overhead while thick fog sweeps through Zone 6. Scott can barely see his hands in front of him, much less the Berserkers that materialize out of the dark and knock them down, one by one. His legs collapse beneath him, numbed and useless, and he looks around for Allison crumpled next to him, Lydia a few feet away.

_“No!”_

Liam’s scream cuts through the fog, and Scott follows the flash of powder blue to see Liam struggling in a Berserker’s hold in front of him. He’s so small in the Berserker’s grip, eyes wide with terror – he’s just a kid, Scott remembers abruptly. He’s just a kid, he never chose this life, he’s just… “No,” he coughs out. “No, take me instead…”

The Operative steps over him and claps a gloved hand over Liam’s mouth, disarming him and tossing the pistol away carelessly. Scott tries to push himself up, tries to squint through the fog, but he can barely even make out Liam’s face anymore, let alone the others.

“Keep running, Little Red,” The Fox hisses.

Something hard knocks into the back of his head. When he opens his eyes again, spitting out fresh mud as rain soaks them to the bone, the clearing is empty and the fog has faded away. “The kid,” Allison mutters, sitting up with a groan.

Lydia pops her arm back into its socket with a grimace. “They took him. The Fox took him.”

Scott clutches the powder blue pistol in his hands. “He’s gone.”


	8. You’ve Got A Hollow-Point Smile

_“One-oh-nine in the sky, but the pigs won’t quit. Keep it cool, jet stars, and stay ready to rumble. Hornets are buzzing all around the hive, so be sure to keep away from the light. I’ll get to the weather in a moment, but right now, I wanted to take a moment to talk about family._

_“…I’ve lost a lot of family these past years. We all have, of course, that’s just how it is out here in the Hills. And I’ve gained a lot of family, too, because that’s how it is here in the Hills. There’s the family you’re born with, the family you grow up with, the family that inspires you to grow. Sometimes you find it right away, and sometimes it takes a few tries, but I know you’ll find your family one day._

_“And I know that’s why you’re listening to me right now. You’re not listening because it’s fun, or because you’re just finding a way to pass the time. You’re listening because you’ve lost, so much, and you’re desperately trying to find it again. What ‘it’ is is different for each of us, but at the end of the day, at the end of the line, I think it all comes back to family._

_“You can’t make it by yourself in this world. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. You need family to support and protect you, pick you up and carry you on when you can’t keep going. And that’s why we do this. That’s why we’re coming for you. We are your family now, and family never leaves family behind._

_“Here is the weather.”_

* * *

_“I can’t do this,” Stiles said._

_Scott cradled him close, wrapping around his tightly-curled body on rough carpet floor. Drunken shrieks and giggles echoed from the nightlife just outside their apartment, and Stiles flinched away from the bright lights flashing through the window shutters. “I can’t, Scott,” he repeated. “I can’t, I – how did you, how’d you make it through this?”_

_He tucked Stiles closer to his chest, and Stiles clutched at his shirt with shaking fingers. “I had to,” he said. “I knew I had to if I wanted to come back to you.”_

_Stiles coughed out a stuttering laugh. “I’m not you,” he said, voice bitter and laced through with pain. “I ca – I don’t know if I can make it.”_

_“You can.” Scott pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “You can make it through this, Stiles, because I know you can.”_

_“That makes one of us,” Stiles said. He grinned shakily up at Scott, teeth chattering behind his lips. “Hey. Hey, if I – if I go away again, promise me you won’t. Promise me you won’t give me the supplements.”_

_He nodded. “I won’t.”_

_“No matter what I say, no matter what, not even if I beg, okay?” Stiles said. “If I take the supplements again, I have to start over again, and-” He swallowed thickly. “I can’t start over again.”_

_“Okay.” Scott nodded again, smoothing back damp hair from Stiles’ forehead. “No more starting over. You need to drink some water now, okay? Parrish is coming by with food later, and you know he’ll fuss if you look dehydrated.”_

_Stiles coughed out a laugh. “That Jordan Parrish, always fussing. Dad always said he was old for his age.” He licked cracked lips. “’s he bringing dumpling soup?”_

_“Of course. Just the way Mom taught him.” He tilted the glass towards Stiles. “Can you drink some water for me, now?”_

_“Of course.” Stiles sipped weakly at the straw Scott placed between his lips, then leaned back against Scott’s arm. Too soon. He needed more water, and – “I don’t want to go away again,” Stiles murmured, tucking his face into the crook of Scott’s arm. “I hate when I can’t remember you.”_

_“It’ll only be for a little while,” Scott said. He offered Stiles the straw again, but Stiles shook his head. “Just for a few hours, and then it’ll be over.”_

_“Still hate it.” Stiles shivered and curled closer to Scott. “Fuck, it’s freezing.”_

_He didn’t glance at the thermostat, already turned up as hot as it could go. “Here, let go of my shirt for a second.”_

_Stiles sat up slowly when Scott nudged him, then blinked in confusion as Scott slipped his shirt over his head. “Why’d you give me your shirt?” he asked, poking absently at the green fabric._

_Scott pulled the thin hood over Stiles’ head, then tucked the blankets back around them. “Better?”_

_Stiles squirmed further down into the cocoon on blankets and tightened the shirt’s hood around his face. “Smells like you,” he said, pulling the worn cuffs over his hands with a content smile. He sniffed at one sleeve’s armpit, then jerked back with a grimace. “_ Really _smells like you.”_

_Scott tucked an arm around him with a grin. “Guess you’ll have to remember me.”_

_“Your B.O. is truly unique,” Stiles said dryly. He settled down next to Scott with a quiet sigh. “You really think I’ll be able to get through this?”_

_He wrapped his hand around Stiles’, squeezing gently through the shirt’s thin sleeves. “I really do.”_

_The t-shirt had been an accident. Scott had tossed a white hooded t-shirt in with the rest of the laundry, and when he opened the washing machine again, it had somehow become a faded red. When Stiles helped him try to fix it, it ended up turning an even deeper red instead. It was too bright to wear around the City, too reminiscent of blood to be anything but alarming, so Mom had sighed at the ruined shirt and added it to the scrap pile._

_Somewhere along the line, though, it stopped being a scrap pile shirt and started being a sick day shirt. It didn’t really register for Scott until several years later, when he was sent home from school after getting an asthma attack in gym class. “Sorry I made you leave work,” he said while Mom checked his peak flow meter._

_She set down the meter and patted his head. “Your asthma isn’t your fault, Scott,” she said. Her mouth twisted. “I should’ve gotten you started on treatment sooner. I’ll talk to the Hospital, and-”_

_“Mom, we can’t afford it.” Sure, it was uncommon to be a sixteen-year-old with easily-treated asthma, but it wasn’t exactly life-threatening or contagious, so he could live with it. His employer would probably cover the treatment costs when he graduated from the Academy and started working full-time, after all. “The inhalers already cost enough as it is.”_

_Mom rubbed his arm, blinking hard against reddened eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”_

_“It’s fine,” he said, mustering up a smile. “Do you have to go back to work?”_

_“No, they gave me the rest of the day off when they heard what happened.” She patted his arm, then sat up with a grin. “Let’s have a sick day! I’ll get the ice cream, you pick a movie.”_

_“Okay.” He sat up and gathered the blankets around the bed, then flipped through his digipad for a movie. He blinked when Mom dropped a pile of red cloth in his lap. “How come we always wear these?”_

_“Because they’re sick day shirts,” Mom said. She set down the bowls on the bed and tugged the shirt over his head. “Because sick days mean looking after yourself, which means doing what you want instead of what you’re just supposed to do. And we McCalls look good in red.”_

_He squawked as she jammed the hood over his head. “You’re messing up my hair!”_

_“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but it was already messed up. Whatever hairstyle you’ve been trying to pull off lately just isn’t working.” Mom pulled on a red shirt of her own and settled next to him on the bed. “What are we watching?”_

_“Why red?” Allison asked, poking gently at the hood peeking out from under Scott’s denim jacket. “Lydia said red was kind of taboo in the City; is that why you started wearing it?”_

_“Sort of.” Scott shrugged. “It was just what I already had on when we had to run from VOid, so…it was mostly just a coincidence.”_

_Allison tilted her head. “So it_ is _okay to wear red in the City?”_

_She’d grown up in the Hills. Scott kept forgetting that. “Not really,” he said. “You’re not supposed to…it’s not really an official rule, but it draws a lot of unnecessary attention to yourself.”_

_Allison nodded. “So why were you wearing it?”_

_Mom abruptly appeared in his mind, ruffling his hair and tucking his hood over his head. “Because it was a sick day. That’s not a City thing,” he added. “It’s just – in my family, when someone got sick, we’d…have a sick day. We’d wear clothes we never wore anywhere else, and we’d just sit around and eat junk food and watch movies.” He tugged at his hood. “So when Stiles was detoxing, I guess it just made sense to me to start wearing my sick day shirt.”_

_“Plus, you gave him your old shirt,” Allison added. She fiddled with the hood’s string. “So you always wore this when you were sick?”_

_“I guess,” he said, eyebrows lifting. “I never really saw it that way, though. I mean, I don’t really remember the ‘being sick’ part of it. I mostly just remember the ice cream, and the movies, and huddling under the blankets, and Mom-” His throat abruptly tightened, and his mouth shut with a snap._

_Allison scooted closer on the steps, pressing their arms together. “It’s about family.”_

_He nodded. “Yeah.”_

_“Yeah.” Her hand lifted to touch the bullet hanging around her neck. She blinked and abruptly jerked it away. “Yeah, I understand that.”_

_Scott glanced down at the bullet, drew a breath to ask, then sat back instead. Maybe it was just a Hills thing. Maybe it was too personal to ask. Allison had already been the first of the Killjoys to offer Scott her birth name; he had no right to ask anything of her._

_“It’s not a Hills thing.”_

_He looked up to see Allison watching him, holding the bullet up on its silver chain. “It’s a history thing,” she continued. “Plastic and lasers, those are pretty recent, relatively speaking. The first Killjoys used metal guns with real bullets.” She tapped the shell. “Learning to make bullets was a rite of passage. They used to pass them down from teacher to student, generation after generation…or what was left of them, I guess.”_

_He moved closer, peering down at the scratched metal casing. “Your shadow lives on without you.”_

_“Yeah, something like that,” Allison said, barking out a laugh. She let go of the bullet, and it dropped back down over her collarbone. “My dad – there’s no set age when you’re supposed to learn. Just whenever your teacher decides you’re ready. So he taught me as soon as I could shoot.” She shrugged jerkily. “I don’t really know why we still do it; it’s not like we have guns to even shoot these anymore.”_

_“It’s important to remember, though,” Scott said._

_The corner of her mouth quirked. “Because it’s a history thing?”_

_“No – well, yeah, knowing our history’s important,” Scott said. “But it’s important to remember the people who made us who we are. Because…” He picked at the string of his hood. “If we remember them, then they’re not really gone.”_

_“Your shadow lives on without you,” Allison said. She squeezed his hand with a soft smile, then squinted at the darkening sky. “Lydia and Stiles should be back soon. I’ll get started on dinner.”_

_He drew his pistol from its holster. “I’ll wait out here for them.”_

_Allison opened the front door, then paused. “Hey, Scott?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. Her shoulders slumped. “Red’s a good look on you.”_

_He grinned. “Thanks.” Allison nodded, then disappeared into the diner. Scott settled back down on the porch and waited for the setting sun to bring the rest of their family home._

_He didn’t know what to make of Lydia at first, so small and unassuming like a porcelain doll next to Allison’s hardened muscle. “Good to meet another City kid,” she said, tucking in her skirt primly as she sat down in the booth. The sun shined directly through the diner’s western window and framed her hair in a fiery halo. Scott wondered if she’d chosen this booth just for that purpose. “How’s your friend doing?”_

_“Piece Keeper says he’s made it through the worst of the detox,” Scott said. He poked at the pile of canned mush that Allison had given him. He should go outside, she’d said. Stiles would be fine when he came back, she’d said. He knew it was true, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave the diner while Stiles still slept in the basement. “He should be back to normal in a day or two.”_

_“Normal,” Lydia said with a snort. She nodded at the can. “It’s not going to get any better, you know. Just plug your nose and eat it.”_

_Her hands drummed idly on the table, nails painted a deep blue to match her pistol. Royal blue, Scott’s mind supplied. The name seemed fitting, from her callus-free fingertips to her fluttering dress to her neatly braided hair. Lydia tilted her head easily under his stilted glances, wiggling her fingers at him. “Gloves,” she said. “Need to keep my fingers protected for what I do.”_

_She’d lived downtown, probably. The straight line of her back, the easy lift of her chin, and the synthetic silk ribbon tied neatly around her throat all screamed of a life of wealth and prestige. Scott wondered if VOid had eyed her for recruitment before she’d run to the Hills._ What do you do _, he opened his mouth to ask, but, “Could you teach me?” fell out instead._

_Her eyebrows lifted in faint surprise. “You don’t even know what I do,” she said._

_He shrugged. “It must be important. And I’d like to learn.”_

_“Well, that’s certainly admirable.” Lydia leaned back with a sigh. “We’ll see how you can handle a gun, first. Eat your food; you haven’t had anything since breakfast.”_

_He shoved a spoonful of mush into his mouth and swallowed before it could rest on his tongue for too long. “What’s in your necklace?” he asked._

_“It’s a locket,” Lydia said, voice carefully blank. She tapped the black silk. “You never saw any of the girls at the Academy wearing these?”_

_“Some.” It was an old tradition, mothers passing down lockets to their daughters. The ribbons were always new, of course, and the more fashionable girls wore a new color in hand-dyed synthetic silk for each year’s new trend. Only a handful of girls in Scott’s class wore their mothers’ lockets, and their silk ribbons were rumpled and faded out of fashion. Scott shrugged, looking up at Lydia. “How come you still wear yours?”_

_Lydia stared at him for a long moment, eyes cataloguing his entire face with laser intensity, then she untied the ribbon and dropped it in front of him. Scott’s eyes widened involuntarily at the deep red mark circling her throat. “VOid recruits the top students in each class at the Academy, you know,” she said. “Where I grew up, it’s considered the highest honor.”_

_“And yet,” Scott prompted._

_“My mother was a teacher,” Lydia said with a brittle smile. “Not so much anymore.” She tilted her head, and the sun’s rays poured warm and glowing over her neck. “She taught me the importance of knowledge…and the importance of hiding it. So…” She crossed her legs neatly, tapping the ribbon with a flawless blue fingernail._

_Scott picked up the locket slowly, and the ribbon draped over his rough skin like water. He nodded. “You can’t be a threat if no one thinks anything of you.” He glanced up for permission, then carefully undid the locket’s clasp._

_He blinked down at the small canister hidden within. “It’s archaic, of course, but fully functional,” Lydia said, smiling down at it. “After all, I learned how to make it from a printed book.”_

_His eyebrows flew up his forehead. “You read printed books?”_

_Lydia grinned. “My mother was a teacher,” she said. “The good think about printed books, you know, is VOid can’t track what you read. They can’t control you with those.”_

_“But I thought they were all gone.”_

_“Of course not.” Lydia shook her head dismissively. “You just have to know where to look.”_

_“Could you-” he began, heart pounding. He shook his head and closed the locket over the detonator. “Sorry. Thank you.”_

_Lydia fastened the ribbon around her neck. She stared at Scott for a moment, lips pursed. “You really like learning, don’t you?”_

_He shook his head, dropping his gaze to the table. “I was never any good at the Academy.”_

_Lydia snorted. “Well, that curriculum was useless anyway. And there’s a big difference between intelligence and wisdom.”_

_“I’m no good at wisdom, either,” Scott said. “I just…want to understand.”_

_Lydia shook her head with a small smile. “You’ve got a long way to go, Scott. Eat your food.”_

_He dug into his canned mush as Lydia stood up from the booth and left. After several mouthfuls, a broken radio landed in front of him, closely followed by a printed book. Scott dropped his can immediately, thumbing through the book’s brittle yellow pages. “Where did you-”_

_“Figure out how to fix that,” Lydia said, nodding down at the radio. “And then I’ll teach you what I do.” She turned away in a whirl of bright hair and shimmering skirts, and the click of her boots slowly faded into the back room._

_Scott grinned down at the book. He hurriedly crammed the rest of the mush down his throat, then gathered up the table’s contents and ran to ask Cora for help finding tools._

_Scott stared down at the worn black leather dropped in front of him. “I,” he said, voice cracking, “I can’t take these. They’re…”_

_“They were Laura’s,” Derek said. “And Laura would want you to have them. She doesn’t need them anymore, and you do.” His hand clapped over Scott’s shoulder. “And we need you, Scott.”_

_Scott shook his head. “But you should have them. She was your family.”_

_“And now I’m_ your _family,” Derek said. “Allison’s told you what we say out here in the Hills, right? The future is bulletproof?”_

_“The aftermath is secondary,” Scott said, nodding._

_“And Killjoys never die,” Derek finished. “Your shadow lives on without you. And the thing about shadows is that they only exist as long as there’s light and there’s someone to cast it.” He leaned forward. “It’s simple, but that’s the beauty of it. There’s always light, and there’s always hope, and there’s always gonna be someone there to pick up our shadows and carry on what we’ve begun.”_

_Scott mulled over his words slowly, staring down at the gloves. “And that’s how Killjoys never die.”_

_Derek smiled and closed Scott’s hands around the gloves. “And that’s why I’m giving you Laura’s gloves. You’ve already begun to carry on her shadow. These are just symbols.” He smirked. “Plus, you really need gloves. If you’re gonna fight with just your fists, Scott, at least cover your knuckles.”_

_Scott laughed and slid the gloves on. They fit over his hands as comfortably as a second skin. “Yes, sir.”_

_He lied back on the Camaro’s windshield, tucking one ankle over the other with a soft sigh. Stiles shuffled around awkwardly before finally settling warm and solid against Scott’s side. “I’m pretty sure these wiper blades are leaving an imprint on my ass,” he said._

_Scott huffed out a soft laugh. “Finally found something even bonier than your own ass to sit on?” he asked. Stiles dug an elbow into his side. “Ow!”_

_“You deserved it,” Stiles retorted. He fidgeted some more, then shrugged out of his jacket and tucked the powder blue leather under his back. “Ah, much better.”_

_“You’re not going to get cold?”_

_Stiles snorted. “I’m the only one here still wearing sleeves, and you’re worried_ I’m _the one who’s_ _gonna to get cold?”_

_He tucked his hands behind his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, I’ve always run hot.”_

_“Damn right you do,” Stiles said, casting a leer down the length of Scott’s body._

_Scott swatted half-heartedly at him with a snort. Instead of tucking his hand back behind his head, though, he let it linger over Stiles’ arm, rubbing the hem of his sleeve between his fingers._

_Stiles noticed. “Guess I never really ended up giving this back to you, huh,” he said, grinning down at the faded green fabric._

_“It looks better on you anyway,” Scott said. He let go of the sleeve, dropping his hand loosely over Stiles’ wrist. It was already cool under his touch, and he glanced up at the golden sky. “Once the sun goes down, we’re going inside. The temperature’s already dropping like crazy, and Derek probably won’t be too happy to find us sitting on his car.”_

_“I’m pretty sure he’s gonna let you drive it soon,” Stiles said. “Like, officially.”_

_“Really?”_

_Stiles nodded. “Looks like he’s getting pretty comfortable sitting shotgun,” he said. “You’re too busy driving to see, but he’s way more relaxed when you’re driving instead of him.”_

_“Huh.” Scott turned back to the sky, curling his hand a little tighter over Stiles’ wrist. They watched the sun slowly begin its descent, painting the sky in warm oranges and pinks. Life was hectic out here in the Hills, but Scott relished these quiet moments when it felt like the entire world was letting out a slow breath. He’d never seen sunsets like these in the City, too blocked out by tall buildings and bright lights. And he’d never gotten to count the stars. “I’m glad we came out here,” he heard himself say, soft as a sigh._

_When he tilted his head to look at Stiles, his face reflected Scott’s thoughts perfectly. “Me, too,” he said, and Scott could hear the rest of his words clear as day._ I’m glad we made it out of the City. I’m glad we found Derek, and Allison, and Lydia. I’m glad we did it together. I’m glad it was you. _His hand shifted under Scott’s, cold fingers slowly winding through Scott’s own. “You know, you’re it for me,” Stiles said._

_Scott lifted their joined hands and pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’ knuckles. “You’ve always been it for me,” he said. “It’s always been you, Stiles.”_

_Stiles’ free hand curled over the back of Scott’s head. “I know,” he said, and the words puffed over Scott’s lips like a promise. It was simple, easy, natural to close the distance between breaths, to taste Stiles’ words on his lips and tongue while their hands pressed tight and burning against his chest._

_Stiles sighed into his mouth, tilting Scott’s head with careful fingers. Stars danced bright and countless across his eyelids, and Stiles’ skin brushed over his as warm as the sun’s rays. Stiles was beaming at him when he opened his eyes. “We should’ve done this sooner,” he said._

_“No.” Scott shook his head and snuggled closer, smiling so hard that he felt like his face could burst. “This was the perfect time.”_

_“You’re such a sap.”_

_“You love it.”_

_“Yeah.” Stiles grinned back at him, eyes soft and fond. “I really do.” He pushed himself closer across the hood of the car, then he looked down abruptly before bursting into laughter. “Oh, man. Derek’s gonna be so pissed if he finds us making out on top of his car.”_

_Scott laughed. “Okay, so next time we make out on top of my bike.”_

_Stiles let out a groan, eyes squeezing shut. “That sounds super hot, but also super impractical. How would that even work without something falling over?”_

_He curled his arm around Stiles, nestling his hand under the thin green hood and pulling him in tight. “We’ll figure it out together.”_

* * *

 

“You don’t have to do this,” he says.

Allison doesn’t bother answering. “For the hundredth time,” Lydia says, leaning forward in the backseat, “You’re not going in alone. I don’t care what it takes to get Liam out; we’re getting him out.”

Allison places her hand over his on the gearshift, reaching back with the other for Lydia’s. “We don’t leave family behind. We’re going to get him back, Scott.”

He starts at her words. Allison never slips up with codenames, never on missions. That’s it, then. He sighs. “Thank you, Allison, Lydia.” He looks into the rearview mirror to catch Lydia’s gaze. “It’s been an honor.”

Lydia smiles, then sits back and checks her grenades. “Last call,” she says. “If anyone wants out, this is it.”

Allison cocks her pistol. “Floor it, Scott.”

The tunnel’s barrier splinters against the Camaro’s hood. Scott doesn’t ease up on the gas, just speeds into the heart of the City as Lydia blows up the tunnel behind them. “VOid, here we come.”

 

It’s appropriate, maybe, that it’s pouring out as they shoot their way into VOid’s headquarters. “Second level,” Lydia says, heading up the back stairs as Allison empties her clip into the ground floor guards. Scott hands her a new cartridge and smashes the fire alarm.

The guards have already run for the exits by the time they reach the second floor. Lydia leads them down the hallway, passing empty rooms until they reach a locked one at the end. She kicks the door down, pistol aimed for the guards, then straightens. “Huh.”

One guard lays crumpled on the floor, and the other slumps down with a groan. Liam straightens and pulls ropes off his wrist. “I knew you’d come,” he says with a grin.

Scott runs forward and crushes Liam in a hug. “Are you okay?” he asks, checking him over quickly. His hands won’t stop shaking. “Did they do anything to you?”

“I’m fine,” Liam says. “Red, I’m fine.” He looks past Scott. “We have to get going before they come back, though. I think all of the Operatives are out on missions, so that’s good.”

Allison tilts her head in the door. “Hall’s clear.”

“Wait,” Scott says, grabbing Liam’s arm before he follows Lydia out the door. He slides the gold bracelet off his wrist. “Take this.”

Liam stares dumbly as Scott secures the band around his wrist. “But,” he says. “But it’s your-”

“I want you to have it,” Scott says firmly. He stands and nods at Allison before Liam can respond. “Let’s go.”

Of course, it’s when they’re almost at the front doors when all hell breaks loose. Berserkers flood from every entrance, and so many shots fly through the air that Scott’s almost blinded by the flashes. “Get him to the exit!” he yells, hurling himself at the nearest Berserker. They go down hard, and something snaps beneath them before Scott lands a shot in the Berserker’s spine. The mask cracks apart in his hand as the Berserker slumps to the floor, and familiar blonde curls spill free.

The breath punches out of Scott’s lungs. “No,” he whispers, dropping the broken mask. “No, it can’t…” He kneels next to the Berserker, brushing the hair away from its face. Erica’s face.

“Erica.” He draws a shuddering breath as Derek’s last fight replays in his mind, the shock on his face and his insistence that he’d seen Boyd, that the Berserker had been Boyd, that he’d _killed_ – “Oh, god.”

He stumbles back. Dimly, he hears Lydia’s shouts, watches Allison push Liam towards the exit. The elevator doors ding open next to him, and he turns to lock eyes with The Fox stepping softly into the room.


	9. The Aftermath Is Secondary

_“…and that was the weather. Now, I’ve got some bad news, tumbleweeds. This will be my last transmission for a while; the static’s catching up to me and it’s time for me to start running. Don’t worry, friends, I’ll be back before you know it. And remember: if you’re listening, if you can hear me, you’re one of the survivors._

_“The future is bulletproof. The aftermath is secondary. And Killjoys never die. This is DJ Deathmate, signing off._

_“Keep running.”_

* * *

 

Little Red’s lifeless body slumps to the floor, the saber gouging scorches into the wall behind him. The Fox lifts the corner of his mouth in a smirk and steps back as Berserkers surround the body.

Thriller Queen pushes the kid to the exit after Diamond Dust, shutting it behind them and melting the lock before bracing herself against it as Berserkers approach.

Diamond Dust pulls the kid in front of her as they sprint for the Camaro, shielding him with her body as shots follow them through the broken windows. The kid crouches on the far side of the Camaro and grabs a powder blue pistol from the driver’s seat, but Diamond Dust urges him down the road, shooting down Berserkers through the windows and drawing their fire towards her.

A dark SUV drives up, skidding to a halt in the rain. The door opens and a figure in a yellow jacket leaps out, grabbing the kid by the arm. A woman leans out the window of the passenger seat with a green-painted pistol, covering the two as they climb into the SUV. The kid turns back to see Diamond Dust cough out her last breath against the Camaro, and Thriller Queen’s fallen body on the other side of the glass doors. The SUV door slams shut, and the car roars away.

 

* * *

 

_Liam turns back to the interior of the car, muscles tense and hands tucked around his pistol. The dark-haired man next to him unfolds his arms and extends his hand. “Hello, Liam.”_

_His heart jolts. He knows that voice; it’s all but seared in his mind from countless listenings in the City, from all the times he’d hacked into the radio feed and clung to the hope that one day he’d follow it and be free. “You’re DJ Deathmate.”_

_DJ Deathmate takes off his sunglasses and stares at him with blue-green eyes that seem to almost glow in the dark. “Call me Derek.”_

* * *

 

A gurney wheels into the cold room, the worker whistling quietly over the squeaking wheels. “Another one for the morgue.” A cough, shuffling of paper. “Little Red, Killjoy.” The worker scoffs. “The hell kind of name is Little Red? I swear, they just get weirder and weirder every time.”

Sterile gloves stretch over wrists with tight snaps. A hand pinches the white body bag and slowly draws the zipper down. A sigh, drawn out and lilting down at the end. “They just get younger and younger every time, too.”

The body is transferred to a shiny metal slab and covered with a pristine white sheet. Pen scribbles over paper, then hands reach down to secure a silver band around the body’s wrist and hang a clipboard on the wall. Dragging footfalls step away. A heavy door creaks open and slams shut. A deadbolt slides home with a sharp drag.

The band lights up and beeps softly. Again. Again. A long, high-pitched beep sounds, then fades slowly back to silence. The light goes dark.

Little Red’s eyes jolt open, shining red as blood.


	10. SIDE B: Keep Running.




	11. The Future Is Bulletproof

Shouts. Screams. Groans of the slowly dying. The dull thud of bodies crashing to the floor, bones shattering like broken glass. And all around, all throughout, the incessant firing of laser pistols.

The Killjoy stumbles back, blinking sluggishly at the broken Berserker’s skull in his hand, at the body crumpled at his feet like dried-out straw. The firefight continues around him, but he’s pinned to the spot. The skull clatters to the ground as he stares with unfocused eyes.

The Fox seizes him by the shirt, shoving him up against the wall and leaning in. The corner of his mouth quirks in a devilish grin, and long fingers dance across the scabbard of his saber. “Okay?” he asks.

The Killjoy drags his eyes up to meet the Fox’s, widening with sudden clarity. He croaks out a single word.

“Stiles.”

The saber slides home.

 

* * *

_The button presses down, the red light clicks on, and footage appears on the screen. “Recording for VOid, R &D Department. Subjects Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Test Whiskey-One-Zero-One, Trial One. Operative Fox speaking.”_

_They run tests on all three reanimated Killjoys. “You’ll be in charge of them, Fox,” his handler says. “I expect you to do a better job than your predecessor.” She sniffs dismissively. “Useless, that one. Couldn’t stop Piece Keeper from escaping, then died at the hands of one of those drat Killjoys.”_

_Piece Keeper. Something clicks The Fox’s mind, like a faulty engine whirring to life for one feeble moment. He paces in front of the sleeping Killjoys, looking down at them as if he’ll just put together the pieces of his shattered mind if he stares long enough. His feet stop in front of the last bed again, the one with the dark hair and warm skin, always so warm from the hot Hills sun._

_Suddenly, he’s jerked into a dusty room with sunlight peering through the cracks, and the boy sleeps on a worn pallet in front of him. He reaches out and strokes his face fondly, warmth shooting through his chest as the boy smiles and leans into his touch. He loves this boy, he’s always loved this boy, he’d do anything for this boy._

_The boy’s brow creases, and he flinches away from his touch. The monitor beeps, and The Fox is back in VOid’s room, surrounded by cold machines. He pulls his hand back from the boy’s cheek, from Little Red, from—_

_He jerks back abruptly, heart pounding. Belatedly, he remembers his surroundings, the cold examination room and ever-watching cameras. The Fox clears his throat. “Tests complete,” he says, turning to face the screen. “Verifying data collection. Shutting down.”_

_The red light slowly fades as the screen darkens. He steps back to the former Killjoys, testing their restraints with efficient fingers. He lingers over the last subject, hand hovering over his wrist restraint. A name tumbles unbidden from The Fox’s lips, softer than a breath in the silent air._

_“Scott.”_


	12. When We Were Young, We Used To Say

Liam huddles in the backseat of the SUV, trembling hands locked tight around the powder blue pistol. He can’t – Allison, Lydia, _Scott_ – they can’t be – he tries to stay calm, but his breaths echo harsh and uneven in the too-quiet SUV. He can’t look at the woman next to him, not after he saw VOid’s symbol branded bold and dark on the back of her neck. He turns towards DJ Deathmate – Derek – instead.

“You aren’t safe, Liam,” Derek says, and it’s a sign of just how flipped his world’s become that those words help Liam’s racing mind settle.

He isn’t safe. Of course he isn’t. He can handle that. He has his gun, he has his fists, he has – he has some of his wits. He can deal with this. He wets his lips to speak. “I thought Derek died.”

“Piece Keeper died,” Derek says. “I became DJ Deathmate instead.”

It makes sense, in a distant sort of logic – Liam remembers the radio changeover several months back, when Mythmaker said her farewells and Deathmate took over. It matches up with when Scott told him about Piece Keeper’s death, but – “But you _died_. The Sinker shoved a saber clean through you.”

Derek lifts his shirt to reveal a gruesome scar just below his ribs. “Hurt like hell, too. I’d kill him right back if Thriller Queen hadn’t done it for me.”

Creep Trick kicks her feet up on the dashboard with a snort. “Lucky for us, VOid knows how to cheat mortality if they find a good enough reason.” She unfolds a paper map – Liam hadn’t even known that there were paper maps of Beacon City – and cranes her neck to peer into the backseat. “Where to, boss?”

Liam looks at Derek, but it’s the woman with the VOid brand who answers, instead. “Tunnel 4,” she says, looking down at her watch. “At the speed we’re going, we’ll get there right when they change over for the day shift.”

“They won’t be looking for us?” the driver asks. Liam doesn’t see a VOid brand, but her throat and the lower half of her face is clawed to hell, as if from a Berserker.

“Three confirmed kills,” VOid brand says. “They got what they wanted.” She looks at Liam. “They do want you back, though. After all, you were the only one I got to.”

Liam blinks. “The only one _you_ got to?”

“Kid,” Derek says. “You’re looking at Vulpine Sublime.”

His eyes widen, jerking from her face to her VOid brand and back to Derek. “ _She’s_ -”

“ _They_ ,” Derek interrupts, stressing the pronoun slightly, “are the reason you made it out of Beacon City. Twice, now.”

“Calm down, Derek,” Vulpine Sublime chides. “You’re scaring the kid.”

“I’m not,” Liam protests immediately, then subsides. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

They cut him off with a shake of their head. “I’m Kira,” they say, holding out a hand. “I’m glad you got my message before I had to start running.”

 

* * *

_“Recording for VOid, R &D Department. Subject Gamma, Test Hotel-Three-Zero-Six, Trial Thirty. Operative Fox speaking.”_

_The dark-haired girl takes down three Berserkers bare-handed, and another ten when she gets a dagger. The Hunter, that’s who she’ll be. She’ll find their quarry easily._

_She accepts the white-handled saber slowly, hefting its weight in her hands, then snaps out the blue light and decapitates two Berserkers in a single smooth motion. The Fox grins. “Not a toy,” he says, then frowns at his nonsensical words. They tumble over each other in his mind, springing from pale skin and cherry-red lips – The Hunter, but younger, happier, more_ alive _, somehow. A different name, a different time…a memory._

 _He’d forgotten what it was like to have memories. He steps back slowly as it uncurls in his mind like a soft tendril of smoke, burning down to a glowing ember buried deep inside his brain. The Hunter. Thriller Queen._ Allison.

_“Not a toy,” Allison says, taking the dagger back from him while he nurses a fresh cut on his thumb. She spins it neatly around one finger before sliding it into its sheath. “You get cut with one of these, you’re not going to get neatly cauterized wounds.”_

_He snorts. “I didn’t realize there was anything neat about getting hit with a laser.”_

_“Fair enough,” Allison says. “Now stop moving around.” She crouches down in the dry dirt, peering intently at the ground. “Three Berserkers,” she says, looking around slowly. “The Operative was wounded – see the uneven footprints there, that’s a limp.”_

_He doesn’t see a damn thing but a bunch of dirt, but, well, that’s the difference between a City kid and a fighter born and raised in the Hills. “The Operative could just have a limp,” he offers._

_Allison shakes her head with a snort. “VOid wants their soldiers at peak physical condition,” she tells him. “They either fix your abnormalities, or they just let you go. Depends on if they think you’re worth it or not.”_

_The red-haired girl is a technological genius, breaking into their system and discovering files that even The Fox didn’t know about. She’s brilliantly calculating, anticipating the other operative’s actions and outcomes of their plans before they even happen. She predicts The Orphan’s demise down to the very hour. “The Banshee,” he nods to himself as her stasis chamber hisses shut after the day’s tests. “What a scream.”_

_“What a scream!” he cheers as they tear away in a stolen VOid car. “That was wild, Lydia!”_

_Lydia blows smoke away from the tip of her gun, smirking over at him. “Told you it’d work,” she says smugly._

_“You’re always right about these things,” he says. “Predicting things before they even happen. You’re like a…like a banshee.”_

_She rolls her eyes. “I’m just good at math,” she says. “There’s nothing magic about it, jeez. It’s all about the numbers. Statistics and probabilities.”_

_“Sounds like magic to me.”_

_They drop off the car in one of the toxic zones and double back, switching rides through two checkpoints before they make it back to home base. Scott’s waiting in the doorway with a smirk when they pull up, hugging Lydia and seeing them safely inside. Then Scott pushes him up against the counter of the diner, kissing him senseless until his stomach growls. They break apart, and he tilts their foreheads together as they laugh. Scott smiles gently and puts a hand over his on the cold counter._

_He blinks down at his hand covering Scott’s on the cold operating table. No, not Scott’s. He can’t think like that. He has to – “Little Red,” he says, clearing his throat. The Fox reaches up with steady hands and unhooks him from the machines, presses a button to summon the Berserkers. “Let’s see what you can do for VOid.”_


	13. Then I’d Be Another Memory

“If you’re Vulpine Sublime,” Liam asks Kira, “then who’s The Fox?”

“You didn’t get a good look at his face?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because it’s so easy to see them through those masks.”

“Fair point.” Kira picks up Liam’s powder blue pistol, running a finger along the scratches. “I was supposed to be The Fox,” they say. “The plan was to train me straight out of the Academy, gain experience as an Operative, then join the next generation of VOid’s leaders.” They slide a gold band off their ponytail. “Lucky for me, my handler had other plans.”

Liam stares down at the hollow band, identical to the one around his wrist. “ _Primum non nocere_ ,” Kira says, reading the inscription on the inside. “First-”

“-do no harm,” Liam finishes, rubbing Scott’s mother’s bracelet. “My dad had one of these. He was one of the best surgeons in the City.”

“What happened to him?”

“Well, he was one of the best surgeons in the City,” Liam says. He shrugs. “VOid saw how good he was, so they recruited him.” He ducks his head. “They said they recruit the top graduates from the Academy, too, so…I thought it’d be my only chance to find out what happened to him.”

Kira nods. “They treat their doctors well,” they say, patting his hand. “It takes a long time to train them to the level VOid wants, so they’re actually the least expendable. I’m sure he’s still there.”

He drags his thumb over the bracelet’s inscription. “Is he still _him_?”

Kira doesn’t answer.

Liam sits down in front of Piece Keeper’s empty grave while the others set up camp. A low murmur echoes from the back of the SUV as Derek broadcasts the radio show throughout the Hills, and Liam tucks his knees under his chin. The tight knot in his chest finally uncurls, spreading loose and heavy through his limbs as exhaustion finally catches up with him in a dull, numbing ache.

They’re _gone_. All of – everyone he’d ever known, everyone he’d ever called family. He wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to break his fists raw and ragged, but he…can’t. The numbness weighs him down to his very core, sinking him deeper into the soft dirt, and he’s just too exhausted to feel…to feel, at all.

A can of food slides into his hands, and Braeden drops down next to him. He tenses and waits for her to ask how he’s feeling, like Kira and Malia and Derek did, but she just takes a big bite of her own food and says, “You need a name, Liam.”

He blinks, confused. “I have a name,” he says slowly.

“No, I mean a _real_ name.” Braeden lifts an eyebrow. “You survive in the Hills long enough, you get a real name. And every Killjoy needs a proper name.”

He shakes his head. “I was never a Killjoy.”

“You are now.” Liam looks up in surprise. “We all are,” Braeden continues, toasting him with her can. “Killjoys never die. Eat your food.”

He crams a spoonful into his mouth automatically. “Just like that?” he asks. “When did that happen?”

“Last night, when we picked you up in the City,” Braeden says. “DJ Mythmaker named me Knight Mare after my first solo run. Did Little Red ever give you a name?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “They were still training me. I can still only shoot straight half the time, Show Pony just taught me how ride a bike.”

Braeden stiffens at the name. “He taught you how to ride, huh?” she asks, her mouth quirking into a bitter sort of smile. “That’s hilarious. I’m the one who taught him. He was a good guy.”

His hand clenches around the can. “Was?” he asks carefully.

Braeden tilts her head so the setting sun catches the scars across her jaw. “You never asked how I got these.”

“Berserker claws, I figured,” Liam says, shrugging. “Diamond Dust has the same kind of marks on her side. Had,” he corrects belatedly. He looks up at her. “Did the Berserker get Show Pony?”

Braeden sighs heavily. “No, Show Pony _was_ the Berserker.”

His can clatters to the ground. Braeden picks it up and hands it back to him. “That’s impossible.”

“That’s VOid,” Braeden says. “I saw his eyes under the mask; I knew it was him right away. I…” She sets her empty can down. “I tried to save him.”

“Where is he now?” Liam asks.

Braeden looks down at the makeshift cross in front of them, barely weathered and planted deep into recently-turned dirt. “This grave isn’t empty anymore,” she says.

“Oh.” He picks at the edge of his can with his nail. “So there’s – we can’t – but I thought VOid had Derek. If Derek got out, then that means-”

“They never got to him,” Malia says, sitting down on Liam’s other side. “Kira got him out as soon as they revived him. We kept him in stasis the same way we did with you until Braeden could take him back to the Hills. He never went through the treatment, so we could still get to him.”

“Oh,” Liam says. “So…oh.”

Derek climbs out of the SUV, and the others stand. “You tell him yet?” he asks, tucking an arm around Braeden’s hip with such a familiar ease that for a split second, Liam sees Allison leaning down to kiss Lydia instead.

Then he blinks, and Derek stares expectantly at him. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “Yeah, they told me that…” That Allison, Lydia, _Scott_ – they’re all gone. “That we can’t – it’s hopeless.”

Derek shoots a frown at Kira. “You didn’t tell him.”

“What?”

Malia takes Liam’s hand, leading him away from the grave and standing him in front of the small pool of water in the center of the Lake. “We used to think it was hopeless,” she says. “But…” They lean forward until Liam can see his own reflection in the still water. “You ready for this, kid?”

His heart pounds. “Ready for what?”

“Did Scott ever tell you why we choose the codenames we do?” Derek asks. Liam shakes his head. “It’s to set us apart from VOid. Two words. Never an epithet. Only VOid gives titles to their Operatives.”

“The Sinker,” Braeden says, ticking off fingers. “The Deputy. The Fox.”

Kira appears behind him with a broken shard of a mirror in hand. “The Kid.”

A chill runs through him. “But,” Liam protests, even as a cold sweat breaks out over his body and shadows of memories push into his mind, “But they always called me – it wasn’t because – I didn’t-”

Malia gestures back down to the water. “You ready for this?” she asks again.

Kira holds the mirror shard behind his head, and Liam slowly leans forward to look at his reflections. On the back of his neck, unmistakable in the setting sun’s light, is a VOid brand like Kira’s, faded and red like an angry scab. “I meant it when I said you were the only one I got to,” Kira says. “You were their youngest Operative; they trained you fast.”

“It’s why we thought you wouldn’t survive the detox,” Malia says. “It wasn’t just the meds you had to overcome, it was their treatment. But you got past all of it, and we still don’t know how. All we know is that you’re our only chance of getting through to the others.”

“Whoever’s left,” Derek says.

 

* * *

_Scott likes reading old books when they have time. Digibooks don’t exist out in The Hills – parts for radios and Vend-A-Hacks are more important – so the crumbly old paper ones that they find in dusty cellars are precious. Scott has a library building in the basement of each safehouse._

_He doesn’t have time for those fragile books, but he does like to drape his feet over Scott’s lap while Scott reads. Sometimes, when it’s storming out or no one has anything better to do, they’ll all huddle in a circle while Scott reads aloud to them. He likes hearing about Frankenstein; it reminds him of the Berserkers._

_Derek doesn’t like hearing about Frankenstein for the exact same reason. He loves books just as much as Scott, though, so the three of them squash together in a diner booth or a dimly-lit basement while the girls…sleep…in the next room. Sometimes loudly._

_“The thing about Frankenstein, though, is that everyone always mistakes the monster for Frankenstein,” he says, waving the book around with a flick of his wrist. “Frankenstein isn’t the monster; he’s the man who made the monster. Everyone gets it all wrong.”_

_“That’s great,” Derek says flatly, arms crossed over his chest. “No one understands Frankenstein’s monster. Let’s read Dracula instead.”_

_“But the thing about Frankenstein,” Scott interjects, leaning closer while Derek rolls his eyes so hard that it’s practically audible, “the thing is, Frankenstein_ is _the monster.”_

_“What the hell are you talking about,” Derek says, his curiosity getting the better of him even as he tries to maintain indifference about the entire subject._

_“The monster isn’t the monster in the story,” Scott says. “Everyone gets that wrong, too. He’s a victim in all of this, just as much as anyone else in the story. The real monster of Frankenstein is, well.” He shrugs. “Frankenstein.”_

_He tilts his head, hands stilling around the book as he grins at Scott. “Wow,” he says. “That was deep.”_

_Scott ducks his head. “Shut up,” he mumbles._

_“No, really,” he says. “You’re so smart, Scott, you know? You…you_ get it _.”_

_“Oh.” Scott shrugs, and a smile blooms small and glowing across his face. “Thanks, Stiles.”_

  _Stiles._

_He blinks abruptly, cracked vinyl fading away to plush cushions and an examination chair. He looks down at his hands, holding not a dog-eared book but a neat clipboard. The rough scrape of denim over knees is abruptly replaced by the smooth whisper of fine synthetic wool, and his cuffs are clean and laser-cut, not fraying at the seams._

_But._

_Stiles._

_The word rolls around in his head, bouncing against solid walls and digging in hot and jagged. His chest feels tight, too warm under white cloth and pristine buttons – but no. But no, there’s a shirt underneath the buttons and the starched collar, how could he have forgotten, how could he not have noticed sooner?_

_He doesn’t have to look down to see the faint green peeking out beneath his collar, and the thin hood sits like a flattened bump under the back of his jacket. He can feel the frayed cuffs brushing tight against his wrists, the soft fabric hugging him in a loving embrace just like its owner – its original owner. The shirt is his, but it isn’t his, it never really was his._

_Stiles._

_The name echoes from soft lips curved in a gentle smile, from eyes like sun-warmed earth and hands holding him tight. Stiles. His name is Stiles. He isn’t The Fox. He is Stiles._

_He slowly drags his eyes up from his clipboard. Scott stares at him with eyes stained red as blood, vacant and unrecognizable. “What is your name?” Stiles asks, hating himself with every word. The cameras are watching, always watching. After what happened with his predecessor, if he so much as breathes the wrong way then they’ll know, and then they’ll kill him, Allison, Lydia,_ Scott.

_Scott licks cracked lips, rolling his head with an empty abandon. “The Monster.”_

_Stiles looks into his eyes and remembers Scott looking up with exaggerated glee from a well-worn book, grinning at Stiles as he shouted, “It’s_ aliiiiive! _”_


	14. We’re All Dead Flies In The Summertime

VOid catches up to them at the Post Office.

The others hang back while Liam steps up to the mailbox, powder-blue pistol held loosely in his hands. It feels…empty. Too empty. In a few minutes, they’ll have to take three new pistols from the vending machine, paint them in red and turquoise and royal blue. They’ll have to add them to the mailbox as cheap shadows of what they used to be, who they used to stand for. But for now, Liam steps forward with the battered blue pistol and reaches for the mailbox’s slot.

Then he drops to the ground as a shot sears past his ear.

He crouches behind the mailbox, pulling a cartridge from his pocket and slapping it into the pistol. Even VOid won’t go so far as to destroy the mailbox – the tradition is important for both sides – but the bulletproof glass provides cover as Braeden hefts her shotgun to return fire.

“How did they find us here?” she shouts as Liam scrambles under the Post Office’s awning. “This isn’t on their schedule!” Kira shakes their head, face grim, and follows Derek to the Operative’s car. Malia ducks through Braeden’s cover and dispatches the Berserkers easily with her glowing hatchets, then falls back with a hiss when the Operative’s blue-lit saber grazes her leg.

Kira pushes Malia behind them, stalks towards the Operative – _Hunter_ , Liam reads on their breastpocket in bright blue stitching – and draws a short staff from their belt. No, not a staff – a handle, and a chill runs down Liam’s spine as bright white light spits from its end. The colors may be nothing like the VOid’s distinct styling, but the weapon itself…only Operatives handle sabers. “Kinda unnerving, huh?” Malia asks as Liam helps her move behind Braeden. “Sometimes I forget Vulpine was raised by VOid, and then…”

Blue and white sabers clash. Kira spins in a blur of black hair and yellow leather, forcing The Hunter back with blows that are downright ruthless. “Do you really forget?” Liam asks.

“No,” Malia says. “But sometimes, I pretend to.”

Liam digs into Derek’s bag for a bandage and wraps it around Malia’s arm. “The Hunter’s green,” he says instead of responding.

“No, their saber’s blue. Vulpine’s is the white light; VOid never uses white with their sabers.”

“No, I mean, they’re new. Vulpine’s kicking their ass.”

“Vulpine’s a master with a saber,” Braeden points out. “They’d kick just about anyone’s ass in a duel.”

“Look at their footwork, though,” Liam says. “The Hunter’s not used to dueling at this range – they’re not used to a saber.” He watches The Hunter step back awkwardly as they parry, then collapse as their ankle twists beneath them. “They’re probably used to something close range, quicker, like…” He blinks, throat abruptly going dry.

“Like?” Malia prompts.

He swallows. “Like Chinese ring daggers.”

The crack from a shotgun rings out through the air, and Kira pulls off The Hunter’s broken helmet while Derek levels his shotgun at their chest. Liam’s vision blurs as The Hunter’s face swims into view. “No,” Malia gasps.

Derek falters. Braeden drops her shotgun and runs forward. “Take the shot!” she yells, drawing her pistol from its holster. “Deathmate, you have to take the shot!”

The Hunter’s leg sweeps out, catching a stunned Kira in the chest and kicking them several paces away. Derek’s grip slackens on his shotgun, and The Hunter shoves it aside easily. She lifts Derek by the throat, holding him up easily, and Liam finally finds his voice again. “ _Allison!_ ”

It’s enough to distract her for a moment, for Braeden to shoot her arm and pull Derek to a safer position. It’s enough for Malia to tackle her to the ground, for Kira to wrestle a helmet over her head and latch it shut. Allison – The Hunter – _Allison_ – stops struggling immediately, slumping into unconsciousness.

“Will she be okay?” Liam asks.

“This is just a deterrent,” Kira says, letting go of the helmet slowly. “It keeps her in stasis. If we take it off her – if she wakes up-”

“But you said-”

“We have no idea how you made it out, Liam,” Kira says.

“But.” He frowns, shaking his head. “But Scott said you risked everything getting me out of there. I detoxed just like everyone else did, that’s why Trick handed me over to the Killjoys-”

“We didn’t know if you’d survive out of stasis,” Malia says. “I thought I was handing you over to die with the Killjoys instead of with VOid. Everyone else we’ve tried to free – none of them ever made it.”

“You’re the only one who ever did,” Derek says, still hoarse from Thriller – The Hunter – _Allison’s_ grip. “And we have no idea how.”

 

* * *

 

_He can feel himself splitting into pieces, VOid’s Fox and the Killjoys’ Motor Mouth and Stiles, Stiles, Scott’s Stiles. He’s always been Scott’s Stiles, he’s always had Scott, Scott’s always had him._

_He has to get them out of here. He has to save Scott. He has to – Scott’s in there, he knows it. He knows that Scott can pull himself out of this, the same way he pulled himself out of VOid’s hold back when they were nobodies in Beacon City and pulled Stiles to the surface right along with him. He knows that Scott can pull himself out of this, the same way that he pulled The Kid – Liam – out of VOid’s brainwashing, burned away that brand on his neck like it was nothing, like his touch and his voice was enough to set the world free._

_He knows that Scott can pull himself out of this. He just has to keep them safe until them. He has to keep them alive, and together, until they can run like they always have. Then they can keep running, like they always have. They’ll be together again, like they always have._

_Scott kept him safe for so long. Stiles can do this for him, for just a little longer._

_He takes a deep breath and taps the video screen. “Recording for VOid, R &D Department. Subject Alpha, Test Bravo-Four-Eleven, Trial Fifty-Nine.” He draws his lips back in a grin, bland and cold and utterly blank. “Operative Fox speaking.”_


	15. Gravity Don’t Mean Too Much To Me

Malia looks up from securing Lydia – they call her The Banshee, but she’s not, she’s _Lydia_ , and Liam has to believe it even if no one else will – with a frown. “That’s two out of three,” she says. “Soon they’re going to send…” She trails off, lips pressing together. “Whatever they call him now.”

“The Monster.” Derek crouches down next to Lydia, testing her restraints with absent motions. “I’ve heard the name tossed around when I hack their radio feeds. And it’s been in some of their propaganda videos.” His hand brushes over the black ribbon tied around Lydia’s throat, fingers stilling over the polished locket at its center. “They’re taunting us.”

Braeden loads her shotgun with a decisive snap. “So we give them what they want. We take the fight to them.”

Liam looks down at Lydia and Allison lying side by side in the cold garage. Curled slightly towards each other, with their hands just barely brushing, it almost looks like they’re merely sleeping. Liam can almost pretend that they’ll wake up again and remember him. “Last time the Killjoys tried that, they all ended up dead,” Malia says. She rolls her eyes. “Well, relatively. And we won’t have backup to ride in and pull anyone out this time.”

“Well, they already chased us out of the City,” Braeden says. “They know that they have the upper hand in every possible scenario. We can use that against them.”

Malia quirks an eyebrow. “By having the…lower…hand?”

“They have new Operatives, but they’re green.” Kira taps their chin with a finger, pursing their lips. “The Deputy was actually one of their last leading veterans, and when Motor Mouth…well, the point is, he’s been eliminated.” They glance up. “Experience really is a big factor when it comes to training Operatives.”

Braeden tilts her head. “We’ve all cut our way through Berserkers before.”

“And between me and Derek, we _can_ map the City blindfolded,” Malia muses. She nods slowly. “They’ll need someone to lead the Berserkers, and they won’t give up The Fox’s handler. He’ll have to come after us himself.”

“Him or The Monster,” Derek says, nodding. “Maybe even both.” His gaze drops for a moment. “They were always at their best when they were together. I don’t know if even brainwashing could change that.”

Liam turns away from Allison and Lydia. “So we’re going after them?” he asks. “We’re getting Scott back? And Stiles?”

“If anyone stands a chance at making it through detox, it’s those two,” Malia says. “And Liam-” She pauses, glances at Derek, then shakes her head. “Can you help me get supplies from the vending machine?”

Braeden lifts a Taser out of the toolbox and turns it over in her hands. “Kira, can you make up two more helmets like these?”

“Already did,” Kira says. “And we have Liam’s old one as a spare. They’re in the basement, I’ll go get them.”

Liam plugs the Vend-A-Hack into the machine. “What do we need?” he asks, tapping away at the controls. “Cartridges, spare pistols, maybe some grenade-”

A faint zapping noise echoes across the garage, followed by a loud thud. Liam’s head snaps up, and he watches Braeden climb out of the basement and pass the helmets to Derek. “What’s going on?” he asks, spinning around from the vending machine. “What’d she do to Kira?”

Cold prongs press into his neck. “Sorry, Liam,” Malia says, and then his world goes dark.

 

He opens his eyes, and panic seizes him as stares into the darkness of the void. Then he feels cold cement beneath under his hands and smells gasoline all around him and realizes where he is. “You awake, Liam?” Kira calls.

“They knocked us out and locked us in the basement.”

“Yeah.”

He sits up and waits for his head to stop swimming. “I’m gonna kill them,” he says as he makes his way to the ladder. It’s gone, of course, so he digs a knife out of his boot. “I’ll boost, you break the lock?”

Kira takes the knife and steps into his cupped hands. “You know they meant well. We’re the only ones with inside knowledge of VOid. If they fail, we’re all that the Killjoys have left.”

“I _barely_ remember what the hell VOid did to me,” Liam says. “And I still think it’s bullshit that they ditched us.”

“Eyes,” Kira says nonsensically, and then blinding light floods the basement as they shove the trapdoor open. Liam squeezes his eyes shut against the abrupt onslaught. Kira pulls themself up, then reaches back down to haul Liam out of the basement. “They took my gun. I need to get a new one.”

Liam hacks new pistols out of the vending machine, then finds Stiles’ powder-blue gun shoved into the dispenser. “Guess no one likes using this one,” he mutters, turning back to the garage. He stops when he sees Kira shoving Allison into the driver’s seat of the Camaro. “What’re you doing?”

Kira finishes strapping Allison in with a triumphant huff, then picks up Lydia and carries her to the passenger seat. “VOid’ll already be on alert from Derek taking a secret passage into the City. This is our ticket in.” They plug a Vend-A-Hack into the console and loop the connecting wire into the backseat. “You know how to use this, right?”

“Yeah, but-” Liam blinks as Kira slaps the Vend-A-Hack into his hands. They tap through the screen, and the controls configure to match the car’s. “You want _me_ to drive?

“Yeah,” Kira says, grabbing spare helmets from the garage. “I need to navigate, so you drive. The only time we really have to stay out of sight is the tunnel, and that’s a straight shot anyway. This is for steering.” They plug a joystick into the Vend-A-Hack, then finally notice Liam’s stunned expression. “What?”

He gapes dumbly down at the joystick. “I never got my City license,” he hears himself say.

Kira stares at him for a long moment, eyebrows slowly climbing up their forehead. “You’re adorable,” they finally say. They toss the helmets into the backseat and climb in. “Ready to go?”

Liam looks at the unconscious figures strapped into the front seats, then the Vend-A-Hack in his hands, then Kira sitting expectantly in the backseat. “Yeah,” he says, and climbs in.

 

The guards don’t even wait for them to stop at the tunnel gates, but instead wave them through as soon as the Camaro begins to slow. Liam lets out a breath of relief, but Kira frowns next to him. “Turn left at the next intersection,” they say, glancing back at the tunnel with narrowing eyes. “Something’s wrong.”

“But we _wanted_ them to let us through, right?” Liam asks as he steers them through the dark streets. “Jeez, I can barely see out here. What happened to all the billboard lights?”

“Exactly,” Kira says. They purse their lips. “It’s too dark, and it’s too quiet. The City’s on lockdown.”

“But VOid let us in.”

Kira nods. “They didn’t even check, just saw The Hunter and let us through.” They chew their lip while the Camaro speeds down the street. “It’s going to be an ambush. Lure the Killjoys in with bait, then capture us all. Make a right at the dead end.”

He turns the down the empty road, abruptly feeling overexposed with the Camaro’s bright headlights. “Are we the bait?”

Distant roars echo from the end of the road, accompanied by a bright bubble of light and the faint rattling of bones. “No,” Kira says. “Berserkers. Lots of them. Then the Operatives will sweep in and finish the job.”

“But Berserkers are chaos on their own.” The roaring grows louder as they pass dark skyscrapers, jangling in Liam’s ears and setting his teeth on edge. “They’ll attack anything in their way. They’ll tear each other apart right along with us.”

“Before I left, R&D was trying to design a higher form of Berserker. A lieutenant of sorts, so they didn’t have to risk as many Operatives when they sent out the foot soldiers.” Kira flashes him a sardonic smile. “We don’t come cheap, you know. This could be their opportunity to test the final results. Two birds, one stone.”

“How would that work? A lower level of brainwashing?”

“No, it’s in the training, I think,” Kira says. “Towards the end, they were trying with former police officers, high-level security. Piece Keeper was slated for the protocol when they brought him in, actually, they thought that Killjoys could be good candidates-”

Liam slams on the brakes. Bright lights flash just around the corner, and deafening roars reverberate through his skull. “Killjoys?” he repeats, heart pounding. Kira stares back at him, eyes widening in sudden realization. Liam points at the front seat with a shaking finger. “They made The Hunter, and The Banshee. And Stiles is The Fox. But they never – we never saw-”

“It’s Scott.” The blood drains from Kira’s face. “VOid wants to bring all of us in. But first, they want us to kill Scott.”

Liam flings the door open, sprinting down the asphalt a split second after Kira. A roiling mass of Berserkers greets them when they round the corner, and they throw themselves into the fray to reach the knot of flashing lasers at its center. “Stop!” Kira screams, drawing their saber and forcing the Berserkers back. “Scott’s here!”

 

* * *

 

_“Tests complete. Verifying data collection. Shutting down.”_

_The red light slowly fades as the screen darkens. Stiles turns around from the computer with a sigh, glances at the Killjoys in their stasis chambers, then locks the doors behind him._

_“Stiles.”_

_He looks up automatically, shoulders hitching at the familiar voice, then – and then the white glare of the doors reflects his blurry face back at him and stills him in his tracks. “What was that?” he asks as he spins around with a blank smile._

_His handler raises an eyebrow. “You remember your name,” she says._

_Her voice is monotone, as always, and Stiles can’t read her face at all. He blinks. “What?”_

_She shrugs and walks down the corridor. Stiles hurries to follow. “Not entirely common, but it’s happened more than once,” she tells him. “Nothing to be concerned about.”_

_The tension drains out of his shoulders, and he quickly straightens them before his handler notices anything different. “Well, that’s good. I guess identities are hard to shake, or something like that.”_

_“Something like that,” his handler replies. She smiles blandly. “You’re very clever, you know. One of the finest Operatives that VOid has ever seen.”_

_“Really?”_

_“You wouldn’t be our Fox if you weren’t.” She turns down another corridor, then another, each less familiar than the last until he can’t recognize his surroundings at all. “Your predecessor was brilliant, but she turned out to be…” Her eyebrow lifts. “A disappointment.”_

_“Couldn’t outrun the Killjoys.”_

_“She was brilliant,” his handler says. For the barest moment, she sounds almost wistful. Then she shakes her head with a sharp sigh. “But not brilliant enough. The Killjoys are too unpredictable. They’re careless. Chaos.”_

_He nods, head bowed. “They’re too dangerous to be allowed to live.”_

_“I’m glad you agree.” She opens a door at the end of the corridor and gestures for him to follow her inside. “You’re very smart, Fox. A true asset to VOid.”_

_“Thank you.” He steps into the room slowly, trying not to stare too obviously at the smooth white walls around them._

_She smiles, eyes sharp. “So, who is Scott?”_

_He freezes. “What?”_

_“It’s a shame,” his handler says, inspecting her nails with a soft sigh. “And maybe it’s a sign. Maybe we were never meant to have a Fox.”_

_The door slams shut. He swallows hard and tries to catch his breath. “What?”_

_“You’re very clever, Stiles,” she says, and the name stabs an icy chill down his spine. She fits a mask over her face, then tilts her head with a careless shrug. “But not clever enough.”_

_Vapor pours into the room, swirling cloudy and opaque until he can’t see his own hands in front of his face. He tries to move, shout, scream, but his entire body hangs numb and useless in the dense fog. A needle drives deep into his skull – no, a knife, a sword, an_ anvil – _burning through his brain and searing his mind to pieces. He collapses to the ground, or he thinks he does, curling tight in on himself as he screams._

_The room abruptly clears. He uncurls slowly, rising to unsteady feet, feeling vacant and too aware all at once. “What,” he asks, reaching towards his handler. Her face swims out of focus as he sees his hand, his sleeve, a flash of green poking out from beneath his cuff. A thin hood presses into his back beneath his shirt, soft and scratching into his skin beneath his smooth, starched collar. “What did you do to me?”_

_She smiles, and her dark eyes glitter. “I thought all Killjoys want to be set free.”_

_The wall clears away to a window, and his heart jolts when he looks through it. Scott – Little Red –_ Scott _is strapped to a chair, straining against heavy shackles. His chest heaves under red fabric – a red t-shirt – his red hood – and cold faces in white coats step forward with smooth ivory bones. Berserker’s armor. “No,” Stiles whispers. He surges forward and slams his fist against the window. “_ No! _”_

_Scott’s head snaps towards the noise, and for a moment Scott’s eyes meet his, red as blood and wide with fear. “Stiles,” Scott gasps out, desperate and utterly broken. Then the Berserker’s skull lowers over his face, and his entire body goes limp._

_“No!” He throws himself against the glass, but a sea of white-sleeved arms surround him. “No! Let me go!”_

_The door opens to dark roads and a bright alley. The arms throw him out, and his hands tear open as he skids over the rough asphalt. “Such a disappointment,” his handler says softly, and then the door slams shut._

_He climbs to his feet slowly, wincing as his ankle gives out beneath him. His heart won’t stop pounding, and his hands won’t stop shaking, and his breath won’t stop stuttering out through too-sharp lungs – “Withdrawal,” he realizes, his voice coughing out hoarse and raw. He’s detoxing, and he needs to get to…but Creep Trick is gone now, he made sure of that, just like he made sure of The Kid, just like he made The Hunter and The Banshee and – “Scott.” His knees crash hard against the ground, blood smearing over the asphalt as his palms tear. Sobs well up dry and blistering in his throat. “Scott. Oh god, Scott.”_

_The Berserkers aren’t like the Operatives. They’re made for destruction, masses of soldiers to eliminate and be eliminated. Their minds aren’t controlled, but simply…destroyed. His throat closes, his head squeezes tight and fuzzy, and he’s losing himself already, he can’t get through this, not by himself, he’s always had Scott, he’s always had—_

_“Scott.” He squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenched tight as he breathes in deep. Scott. Scott could do this. Scott_ did _do this. He did it, and Stiles can do it, too. He can. He has to, so that he can come back for Scott. For Scott._

_He climbs shakily to his feet and looks around him. The building is unmarked and nondescript, and he can’t recognize anything around him. The sun sits high in the sky, directly overhead and offering no direction whatsoever. His pockets are empty, he’s completely unarmed, and he can feel his brain shaking out of his skull._

_Stiles takes a deep breath and starts walking out of the alleyway. He’s always had Scott. And he’s going to get him back._


	16. You Only Hear The Music When Your Heart Begins To Break

Shouts. Screams. Groans of the slowly dying. The dull thud of bodies crashing to the floor, bones shattering like broken glass. And all around, all throughout, the incessant firing of laser pistols.

Liam stumbles back, blinking sluggishly at the broken Berserker’s skull in his hand, at the dry bones piled around him like a graveyard. Braeden and Derek wrestle the Berserker away from him, forcing it to its knees, and his lungs seize. “No,” he tries to yell, but it comes out a whisper. He’d seen the Berserker’s eyes as he’d tackled it away from Kira, he’d seen them and he knew, knew it was – “No, please…”

Malia darts in with a stolen saber held high for the killing blow. “Stop!” Kira screams. “That’s Scott!”

Malia freezes, saber hovering just above the Berserker’s head, and the Berserker surges to his feet and flings them all aside. Kira deactivates their saber and smashes the handle into the back of the Berserker’s skull. It splinters from the impact, the bottom half breaking away, and a ragged gasp tears from Derek’s throat as a bright red hood tumbles free. “No,” he croaks out, knees giving out and dropping him to the ground. “No, not a – it can’t be-”

The Berserker knocks Kira aside and turns towards Derek. Liam runs forward to stand in front of Derek, and the Berserker’s – _Scott’s_ – hand clamps around his throat, shoving him up against the wall—

_“Hey,” the man says, leaning him against the tunnel wall and wrapping a gentle hand around the back of his stinging neck. “Hey, what’s your name? Mine’s Scott.”_

“Scott,” Liam mumbles. He takes a deep breath, just like Scott had helped him do so long ago, pressed up against a tunnel wall while chaos roared all around them and through his own mind. “Scott, I’m Liam. You’re not The Monster, Scott,” he says desperately, “And I’m not The Kid, because you saved me, remember? You’re Little Red, you saved me, and Stiles-” The grip tightens around him, pressing down on his larynx. “You remember Stiles, Scott?” he gasps out.

“Scott?”

Liam coughs out a laugh. Of course he’s hearing Stiles right as he’s about to die. He’s dying at the hands of the man who saved him, so it only makes sense that he’s hearing the voice of the other man who saved him. He can see him, even, standing right behind Scott’s shoulder. He’s dressed in a tattered VOid suit for some reason, but the familiar green hood juts out awkwardly over his rumpled collar.

Stiles’ hands reach up, pale as death, and gently pry Scott’s grip away from Liam. “Scott?”

 

 _Memories crash in on one another, blurring into blue moons and white skies and screams of laughter and tears and blood. The diner. The Hills. The Fox The Hunter The Dust Red Motor Keeper Kid Scott Scott_ Scott.

_He’d recognize him anywhere. He’d recognize the planes of his back, the curve of his biceps, his solid stance. “Scott?”_

_There’s a mask over his face, bones locked tight around his skull, but he’d recognize him anyway. He’s always known him. Always. Always. Even when he didn’t know him, he knew him. Scott._

_He reaches up and pries his hands away from the kid, The Kid, Liam. “Scott?”_

_Scott’s hands leave his grip, his chest heaves, and then he crashes to his knees. His hands come up, claws sinking into bone, and he roars as he rips the mask away, tears the skull down the middle. His head tilts up to the sky, roar echoing to the heavens themselves, eyes shining red as blood._

_Scott stands slowly, a clawed hand coming up to cradle his face. A ragged breath shudders through cracked lips. Then another, and another, and Scott finally raises his head. “Stiles?”_

_A shot echoes through the air, and a sharp sting spreads across his back. He falls forward limply into Scott’s arms as his breath leaves him with a sigh. It’s okay, he thinks absently, as shouts and chaos erupt around him. He’s with Scott. Scott has him. He’s safe now. He’s okay._

“Stiles!”

_You’ll always have me, he thinks, and falls away with a smile on his face._

 

* * *

 

They almost don’t make it out of Beacon City.

The Berserkers come flowing in after Stiles is shot, out of every building and alleyway and sewer grating. Liam sees flashes of Operatives, even, sparks flying from their sabers. Scott doesn’t seem to care at all, though, as the roar fades from his lips and he curls over Stiles’ limp body, cradling his face with a shaking hand. Liam feels Stiles’ pulse, steady and sure, and smiles up at Scott. He’s going to make it.

If they can get him out of here, that is. It looks pretty hopeless.

But then.

But then.

But then the streets flood with citizens of Beacon City. Stumbling, confused, shouting about a roar echoing through their heads, stumbling onto the Berserkers, demanding answers from the Operatives.

And amidst the growing crowd, amidst the impending chaos, the Camaro screeches into view. Liam watches, mystified, as the driver’s window rolls down, and Allison leans out and shouts, “Get in!”

Lydia leaps out of the passenger seat and shoves a Berserker off their motorcycle, gunning it to life and sending it zooming into the crowd. She slides into an Operative’s abandoned car and echoes Allison’s words. “Get in!”

Braeden guns the SUV to life as Derek climbs in after her, as Malia climbs into Lydia’s car and Kira dives into the Camaro. Scott cradles Stiles close, holding him carefully on his motorcycle, and Liam looks around at the chaos, lost, confused, overwhelmed—

“Get on!”

A motorcycle swerves to a stop in front of him, nearly running over his foot, and a dark-skinned boy stares at him with wide eyes. “Get on!” he yells again, eyes tracking the cars revving to life. “We’re going with them!”

His legs move before his mind does. Before he even realizes what’s happened, he’s on the motorcycle with his arms wrapped around the boy’s back, speeding out of Beacon City at top speed. He pulls his goggles over his neck and fastens them over the boy’s eyes as they speed through the tunnel – the empty tunnel. The Berserkers have completely abandoned their posts. Beacon City is in utter chaos.

The boy straightens, head tilting up more as his eyes are shielded from the wind. “Thanks,” he yells. “I’m Mason.”

He looks at the familiar SUV ahead of them, the two cars flanking him, and turns his head to see Scott’s motorcycle just behind. He turns back and ducks his head out of the wind, grinning into Mason’s back. “I’m Liam.”

 

* * *

 

_VOid’s logo spins across the screen while a cheerful jingle trumpets through the air. The logo fades into a finely-coiffed young man in a smart grey suit. He smiles into the camera, eyes bright and teeth whiter than the desk in front of him. “Welcome, Beacon City, to…” He blinks for a moment, eyes darting away from the camera, before recovering. “Welcome! This is Operator 6 with a special report._

_“Central Plaza is temporarily closed to the public in light of recent events. The terrorist group known as the Killjoys attempted to invade our City and launched a direct attack on City Hall, but our police force successfully subdued the attack. I am happy to report that there have been only minor civilian injuries treated at the Hospital, and no civilian casualties!_

_“Sadly, we have lost some brave members of our police force. Some of you, especially those living downtown, may notice some missing friends amongst your neighborhood patrol. Memorials are scheduled to be held at City Hall in the next few days when we have a complete list of our fallen heroes._

_“Lockdown is still in effect, and I ask that you remain inside your homes until the next announcement is made. Within the next few hours, Operatives will be visiting every residence with supply packages. If you require immediate assistance, don’t hesitate to call your emergency numbers!_

_“Our beloved City has been subjected to a horrific attack tonight, dear viewers. But I have every confidence that we will make it through this together. We will not let the Killjoys instill fear in our hearts. We will prevail!_

_“I’ve been Operator 6 with the special report. Remember, here at Visionary Order Industries, we are here to help.”_

_The man fades away to a static VOid logo as the trumpeting jingle replays across the air. The screen slowly fades to black._


	17. Be What Tomorrow Needs

“We’re going to set them all free,” Scott says. “I know I’m not the only one who can do it. I know there’s others who can do what I do. And we’re going to find them, and we’re going to free everyone.”

Stiles nods. “We will,” he says. “We’ll save them all. But not until they’re ready.”

Lydia straightens from the vending machine with a can of red spray paint in hand. “Took me forever to find the right color,” she says, handing it over to Scott with a grin.

Scott smiles as he takes the can. He turns to their Wanted posters, the crinkly faded images of the Killjoys and the faceless outlines for Vulpine Sublime and DJ Deathmate. He pauses in front of the newest poster, grinning at Liam as his fingers trace the letters of Kid Pony.

Scott shakes the can and sprays over his own face with long, bold strokes, then tosses the can down and steps back to admire his handiwork. Stiles wraps his arms around Scott’s waist and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It’s perfect.” Scott smiles at him with blood-red eyes and kisses him back.

“Sun’s up,” Braeden says, folding up her map while Allison does the same next to her. “Time to start running.”

Kira high-fives Derek as he follows Braeden into the SUV. They toss their braid over their shoulder as they slide behind the wheel of the Camaro, Malia twirling a hatchet in the passenger seat. Allison and Lydia climb into their own car, repainted in deep blue and bright turquoise. Liam tucks their latest mixtape into his jacket and climbs onto his motorcycle while Mason checks his compass next to him.

Stiles slides onto the motorcycle behind Scott, pressing close to his body and butting their helmets together. “Ready when you are.”

The engines roar to life, and they kick up dust as they tear away. The clouds clear slowly from the Wanted posters tacked to the wall, and the washed-out grays blend together in the hazy light. Only vibrant red writing cuts through the dust, painted boldly across a smirking face.

The Monster.

 

* * *

 

_VOid’s logo spins across the screen while a cheerful jingle trumpets through the air. The logo fades into a finely-coiffed young man in a smart grey suit. He smiles into the camera, eyes bright and teeth whiter than the desk in front of him. “Welcome, Beacon City, to the Nightly News! This is Operator 6 with the report._

_“Central Plaza is now fully restored and open to regular business. Additionally, VOid has sent out rush orders for Supplement B11, which will help all who may still suffer from headaches and other symptoms resulting from the Plaza riots. All costs will be reimbursed by your employers, so make sure to put in an order at your local pharmacy today!_

_“Lastly, you may see some new faces amongst your neighborhood patrol. Give them a warm welcome! As always, don’t hesitate to report any suspicious activity to your emergency numbers. Remember, here at Visionary Order Industries, we are here to-”_

_The screen abruptly cuts to black while static hisses through the air. A soft voice speaks across the darkness, confident with an uncanny warmth that is completely unlike VOid’s Operators. “I am The Monster. If you’re listening, if you can hear me, you’re going to make it._

_“The future is bulletproof. The aftermath is secondary. And Killjoys never die. When you’re ready to live, come join us. You know where to find me. Until then, keep running.”_

_A roar. Static._

_End transmission._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Codenames:
> 
>   * Scott - Little Red / The Monster (VOid)
>   * Stiles - Motor Mouth / The Fox (VOid)
>   * Allison - Thriller Queen / The Hunter (VOid)
>   * Lydia - Diamond Dust / The Banshee (VOid)
>   * Derek - Piece Keeper / DJ Deathmate
>   * Isaac - Show Pony
>   * Braeden - Knight Mare
>   * Malia - Creep Trick
>   * Kira - Vulpine Sublime
>   * Liam - The Kid (VOid) / Kid Pony
> 

> 
> Come say [hi](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com)!


End file.
